by Ray Flynt
Silence.
Not what he’d expected. Hearing a no would be devastating.
Then he heard Beth sniffling. She buried her head in his shoulder and finally he heard a soft, “Yes.”
Brad couldn’t remember when he’d felt happier.
Chapter Five
Beth was still sleeping when Brad left the Daufuskie Island beach house. She’d be meeting with a realtor later that morning, and would learn the market value of the property after which she could inform her brothers of: A) Brad’s plan to buy the place, and B) her engagement.
On the ferry to Hilton Head Brad texted Sharon telling her to prepare for a possible trip. Drawing Sharon into the investigation, he figured, would leave him free to spend more time with Beth.
While Beth had never explicitly said so, he could tell that she wanted his full attention. He promised to return by 2 p.m., and since he wanted to follow-up on several leads he didn’t have any time to waste. First stop, the high school where Dana Carothers had graduated.
A uniformed guard met him at the entrance. Brad offered a brief explanation of who he was and asked to be directed to the principal’s office.
The guard studied him humorlessly. “Could I see your ID?” Brad fished his drivers’ license out of his wallet, and the guard recorded his information on a clipboard.
Pointing down the hall, the guard said, “Take the first right, then second left, Mr. Bonniker’s office will be the second door on your left.”
As Brad wandered down the hall he noticed several security cameras. There had to be a central monitoring room for the cameras, since security personnel at the door were only equipped with a chair. He had a feeling of déjà vu as he walked past the lockers and smelled freshly applied wax on the tile floors. Did every school in America smell the same?
After the second turn he spotted the sign above the entry and recalled the time he’d been summoned to the principal’s office in tenth grade—stomach flipping as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. There he found his mother waiting to take him home because his grandfather had died.
October wouldn’t arrive for another week, but orange paper jack-o-lanterns covered the glass double-doors. He passed through the doors and approached the counter where a receptionist scowled at him as if she were contemplating a strip search.
“May I help you?” she asked brusquely.
Brad slid his business card across the counter. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Bonniker.”
She eyed the card with a combination of suspicion and curiosity. “I believe he’s in a meeting right now. May I tell him what this is regarding?”
Brad leaned toward the inquisitive gatekeeper and whispered, “It’s a matter of a highly personal and sensitive nature.”
She abruptly stepped back then disappeared behind a row of file cabinets. Moments later a man emerged from a door on the left side.
“I’m Michael Bonniker.”
Brad shook the principal’s hand, and introduced himself.
“Let’s step into my office,” Bonniker said, pointing the way. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m investigating the death of Dana Carothers, a young man who graduated eight years ago. I wonder if you knew him, and if you could provide me with insights, impressions. I’d also like to see his academic records.”
The principal shook his head.
Anticipating that reaction, Brad reached in his coat pocket and retrieved some papers. “Here’s a copy of his death certificate, and his mother signed a release for the information.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be much help,” Bonniker said. “I’ve only worked in this district for three years. Have you tried Miss Fisher?”
“Ms. Fisher? Who’s she?”
“She’s our senior guidance counselor; been with the district thirty-three years. I’m sure she would have information.”
“Is she available?” Brad inquired.
The principal glanced at the clock on the office wall.
“She had a first period study hall—what with budget cuts we’re a little short-staffed,” he said, apologetically. “She should be back in her office by now. I’ll walk you over there. After you’ve met with her, my staff can help you with transcripts.”
Bonniker led him through a connecting hallway to the adjacent suite, and finally into a small office where the principal made the introduction to the woman there. Brad extended his hand. “Ms. Fisher, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s Miss Fisher,” she corrected.
Fisher was a large-boned woman with henna-red hair, a freckled complexion, and Brad picked up the scent of a sweet smelling perfume. A name plate on the front of her desk said Tanya Fisher, MSW. Brad didn’t think her first name fit.
As Bonniker backed out of the crowded space, Brad sat in the chair next to her desk and stated the reason for his visit.
“I remember Dana Carothers, absolutely. What a tragic misfortune for his family.” Fisher clucked her tongue.
Brad started with an easy question. “What kind of a student was he?”
Fisher placed her palms down on the top of her desk and straightened her neck as if waiting for a vision. Her bearing was intense. She wore an amber suit and rust colored blouse, and provided answers as subtle as her over-sized gold earrings.
“Well,” Fisher began finally, “I should tell you straight off that Dana managed to reverse the negative impression his brother left. Denton was a real…,” she stopped and looked around before mouthing, “hell-raiser.”
“Really?” Brad looked surprised, hoping for more.
“Denton gave Mr. Anderson such a bad time that he refused to have another Carothers for homeroom. Homeroom assignments are alphabetical and they moved Dana out of sequence. That’s how he got hooked up with that Simmons boy.”
“Tell me about Simmons. What’s his first name?”
“Craig. Craig Simmons.” She intoned the name with disaffection, but smiled as she added, “Now there’s a boy who I could see would never amount to much. The good Lord must have known that, ‘cause he put him in one of the richest families in the county.”
“Dana and Craig were friends?” Brad slipped a notebook out of his pocket and made a note of Craig Simmons’ name.
Fisher nodded. “One of many. Dana was liked by just about everybody—teachers and students.”
It seemed that Fisher enjoyed opening up to him, and Brad moved to the edge of his chair to encourage her. “What about academics?”
“He wasn’t a brain. Let’s say he made the most of his abilities.
“Sports?”
“Hmmm,” Fisher pursed her lips as she thought. “He was on the swim team, and played a little basketball in junior high. A fairly average sportsman.”
“What about girlfriends?”
Fisher sniffed, and her demeanor changed. “He only had one steady girlfriend—least as far as I knew—that was Kathy Ann Westin. They grew up together. I have to tell you I was surprised when I heard.”
“Heard what?” Brad asked.
“Well,” Fisher confided, “after the suicide, there were rumors that Dana and Kathy were planning to get married, but that Dana broke it off.”
If Amanda knew about a broken engagement, she hadn’t mentioned it. Brad recalled her saying that Dana and Kathy had a date on the night before he died, and that it was Kathy’s father that had found Dana’s body.
“I can’t say I was surprised,” Fisher continued. “Dana seemed too good for Kathy. She never had any ambition. Of course, she had a hard life. Her mother died when she was ten years old, and that father of hers should never have tried to raise a daughter by himself.” Fisher clucked her tongue again.
“Were there any other students he was close to?” Brad asked.
“Bob Kepner. Now there’s a case. Bright young man; all through high school he figured his looks and popularity would get him through. I don’t recall them being friends in high school, but Kepner and Simmons hung out together, an
d the three of them ended up as roommates in college.”
Just as Brad thought that Miss Fisher must moonlight as the local gossip columnist, she added, “Simmons’ aunt is my next door neighbor; that’s why I know all about him.”
“Do you know where Kepner and Simmons are now?”
“Kepner lives over on the island, and works as an architect. He helped design the school addition two years ago. He’s got a wife and child.” She cackled. “Maybe I should put that the other way.”
Brad lowered his voice. “What do you mean?”
Fisher leaned forward and whispered, “Story is he got Linda Reinhardt pregnant and had to get married. But I think she had the kid in order to trap him into marrying her. Kepner was a pretty good catch for her—a couple notches above her social standing, if you know what I mean.” Leaving nothing to his imagination, Fisher added, “Trailer trash! A lot of girls around here were disappointed when Bob Kepner got taken. I heard he came into some money too, just recently. I don’t know the details.”
Brad couldn’t help but notice that when talking about relationships Fisher denigrated women.
“Where is Simmons now?” Brad asked.
“His aunt told me that Craig works over at the Atlanta airport as a supervisor for one of the airlines. His dad bought him a business he could run into ruin around here, and when that fell through he moved on to Atlanta. The rich got nothing better to do than to waste their money.” She shook her head.
The sharp ringing of a bell just outside Fisher’s office startled Brad.
“That’s the signal for third period class change,” Fisher explained.
“Other than his choice of friends, are you aware of any other problems Dana might have had?”
Fisher tapped her fingers on her desk then gazed at the ceiling. She reached for a box of three by five cards on a table behind her, and mumbled while thumbing through the cards. “I might have… Oh, my… I need to go through these and weed out… I keep notes on all the students.” She seemed flustered. “But I can’t seem to… Maybe I filed it with his permanent record.” She stood and walked to a nearby file cabinet, and after rummaging through two drawers announced, “Ah, here it is!”
She turned back to Brad waving a card in her hand. “There’s only one card here, which means that I didn’t have that much contact with Dana.” Fisher thumbed through cards, and her eyes widened as she said, “I’ve got six for Denton Jr.
“Dana had no aptitude for math. He had to repeat algebra, but since he was on a college prep track it was necessary.”
“I meant counseling issues,” Brad said. “I understand his dad died a year before; might that have had an impact on him?”
“If it did, I wasn’t aware of it. According to this,” Fisher waved the file card as if the information was as important as the Dead Sea Scrolls, “I saw Dana five or six times during his junior and senior year, mostly advising him on college choices. If he had problems at home, he never confided them to me.”
“What can you tell me about Dana’s parents?” Brad asked.
“Obviously, Denton Sr. was in charge,” Fisher said.
“You sound confident.”
“Marines tend to take charge.”
Brad smiled.
“I’ve known Amanda for years,” Fisher continued. “We went to school together. We were never close, but I’ve followed her life and known both of her children. She married lucky.”
Had Fisher been a rival for Denton’s attentions back in the day?
“Denton gave her a good life, but I’ll grant you it hasn’t always been easy. She had her hands full after Denton’s heart attack—Denton Jr. might have suffered more than Dana because of it. After Denton’s first attack his career was basically over. There were rumors he would have had a big promotion. Then she had to deal with Dana’s suicide...” Fisher’s voice lost its confident edge. “I certainly don’t envy what Amanda’s had to go through.”
“As you think back to when you first heard about Dana’s death, what was your reaction?”
Fisher avoided his gaze. She slid her chair back, stood, and walked over to the window. She ground her palms together before saying, “I was overcome by sadness.”
“But not surprise?” Brad asked.
Looking back at him, she said, “What do you mean?”
“You weren’t surprised that he’d taken his own life?”
“I never thought about it in quite that way. But you’re right, of course. I guess I just thought about the death of his father earlier and how sad it all was for poor Amanda. I didn’t have any doubts.”
Brad smiled as he stood to leave. “Thank you for your time.”
He stopped by the office and picked up Dana’s transcripts.
As he made his way back to the main entrance Brad also had fewer doubts that Dana’s death was anything but suicide.
Chapter Six
Brad sat in his car deciding what to do next. He pulled out his smartphone and called the Beaufort County Sheriff’s office asking to speak with Josh Miller, the officer Amanda said had investigated Dana’s death.
“Miller’s not here right now,” a voice barked.
“When might he be available?”
Silence on the other end, and Brad heard the crackle of radio talk in the background. “Try reaching him at our Hilton Head office around noon. Here’s the number.”
Brad copied the number in his notebook, and looked at his watch. He’d have time to visit with Jim Westin, and could stop by the Sheriff’s office on Hilton Head and still make it back to Daufuskie at the time he told Beth.
The Westin property was just down the road from the Carothers’ place. Of similar vintage, the one story rancher looked like a reverse plan of Amanda’s house. But unlike her home Westin’s was immaculately landscaped and maintained. The scent of freshly mowed grass wafted his way as he stepped past grass clippings dried at the edge of the driveway, waiting to be bagged.
When he pressed the front door bell, a gruff voice from behind said, “It don’t work. What do you want?”
Brad turned to face him. “Mr. Westin?”
Westin grunted. He was a fiftyish, slightly built man. An occasional gray streak wended its way through jet-black hair, and two or three days’ worth of dark stubble covered his cheek.
“I’m Brad Frame.” Gesturing in the direction of Amanda’s home, he said, “Mrs. Carothers said that you were the one who found her son’s body four years ago.”
“So what if I was?” Westin positioned his feet further apart and hitched his thumbs inside the top of his belt buckle.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“I ain’t got time for no questions. Besides, that lady’s been through enough. What are you? A reporter?”
“At Amanda Carothers’ request,” Brad explained, “I’m looking into her son’s death.”
Westin glowered. “What d’ya mean lookin’ into?”
“She has questions about the circumstances under which her son died.”
“You mean she don’t think he committed suicide? She never said nothin’ like that to me.” Jim Westin surprised him with his grasp of what Brad suggested.
“Dad, where do you want me to put—” A young woman slowed her stride as she rounded the corner of the house and saw Brad near the front stoop. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.” She toted a hefty bag of bark chips.
“Kathy, this is Mr. Frame,” he said, once again startling Brad that he had remembered his name. “This is my daughter, Kathy Ann.”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said.
Kathy Ann Westin was a robust curly-haired brunette, with lush lashes perched above her mahogany eyes, and dimpled cheeks. If it weren’t for her ample breasts, she would have looked tomboyish in her jeans, blue gingham shirt, and short hair.
“This gentleman wants to ask a bunch of questions about Dana,” her father explained.
Kathy Ann lost her grip on the bag, and it tumb
led to the ground. “What kind of questions?” she said in a pinched voice.
“Amanda Carothers asked me to look at the events surrounding her son’s death,” Brad explained. “As you can imagine, the memories of his death have weighed heavily on her for the past few years.”
Kathy’s voice trembled with emotion. “Dana’s death has been felt in different ways by a lot of people in this town.”
“If I could just ask you both a few questions, I’d appreciate it,” Brad said.
“Kathy Ann don’t have time,” Jim snapped. Pointing at the bag, he said, “Sugar, take that stuff out beside the garage.” Turning back to Brad, Westin said, “I’ve given you too much of my time already. But if Amanda sent you over here, I’ll spare a couple more minutes.”
Kathy forced a smile before scooping up the bag of bark chips. She kept looking back over her shoulder before finally disappearing around the side of the house.
“I appreciate your cooperation, and I’ll make sure Amanda knows about it too,” Brad began. “I just have a few questions. Can you describe how you found the body?”
“It was on a Saturday, and I was cuttin’ grass. Ever since Denton died, I tried to help Amanda any way I could. When I finished with my own yard, I rode over—I got a heavy duty ridin’ mower—and started mowin’ hers. I was up near the front of the house when my mower stalled out. That’s when I heard the noise of a car runnin’ inside the garage. I went to check it out. I peeked in the garage door window and seen him layin’ on the floor. I tried to open the garage door, but it wouldn’t lift up. I picked up a rock and tried to bust a window, but it was Plexiglas and only cracked. That’s when I ran over to the front door. It wasn’t locked, so I got in through the house and hit the button to open the garage door.”
“Mind if I take a few notes?” Brad asked.
Westin shook his head before continuing. “The garage was filled with fumes, even after I got the door open. I covered my face with my handkerchief, and went over to check on Dana. I could tell he was dead right off, so I went in and called the Sheriff’s office and then Summerfield’s. Officer Miller arrived in about ten minutes. The Summerfields were at a burial up at the cemetery. Homer didn’t get here for about forty minutes.”