Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries)

by Lovely, Linda

  “Just what I wanted to hear,” he grumbled.

  It was unusually warm for early spring, mid-eighties. Nonetheless, I wore jeans, high-topped hiking boots, and a long-sleeved shirt. Haunted by the sight of Bea’s bloated face, I was determined to keep a little extra between my flesh and any fire ants. Giant spiders and poisonous snakes weren’t on my get-acquainted list either.

  We heard the boys before we saw them. I hoped resident reptiles found the racket as offensive as I did. Were they rapping? Whatever, they’d cranked the noise full volume. As we weaved between prickly bushes, I caught glimpses of the teens practicing a dippy slide-shuffle.

  A dance? Who knew? Maybe Braden. God, he looks young today.

  When we reached the clearing, my youthful-looking deputy proclaimed himself the grown-up in charge. Henry and Jared let loose with a few “oh, man” complaints as Braden ordered them to park their fannies on a rotting log, and talk only when—and if—asked.

  The twins complied with astonishing meekness—none of the usual lip. Then it dawned on me: Braden was the missing ingredient in their lives, a take-charge male who didn’t stoop to bribery or verbal or physical abuse. His command presence hypnotized them.

  With the deputy acting as orchestra leader, the boys performed a perfect duet. They took turns bragging about their feats of daring-do.

  “We used Jerry’s camouflaged johnboat—the one he takes duck hunting.” Triumph laced Henry’s tone. “Hugh never saw us. When he beached on Sunrise, we slid into tall marsh grass on that hump of island in the middle of the channel.”

  I interrupted. “I know the spot. Too far away for you to see much.”

  Jared bounced on the log seat like he had to pee. “We’re not stupid. We brought binocs. Hell, we could have counted the hairs on his butt if he’d bent over. We watched him play Tonto. You know, shading his eyes and looking every which way for witnesses.”

  Henry cut in. “Hugh went straight to a seashell, a big mother wedged behind a palm. He stuffed something inside. He came back carrying a big cooler. Blue with a white lid. Then he went back to brush out his footprints.”

  “Yeah.” His brother chuckled. “He must think he’s James Bondage.”

  The boys were on a high, convinced they’d cracked the case. “Last thing Hugh did was tie orange tape around some scraggly pine. Once he left, we motored over and snatched the shell.”

  Henry jumped in, stealing his twin’s punch line. “Inside, we found a message in a plastic bag.”

  The brothers seemed oblivious to Braden’s look of alarm. “Did you put it back where you found it?”

  “’Course not,” Jared replied with glee. With a flourish, he extracted a folded paper from his pants pocket. The grimy slip looked as if it last resided in a cow patty. Grit and the teens’ greasy paws had long since eradicated fingerprint evidence.

  Braden sighed and held out his hand. “Did you touch the orange tape?” he asked.

  “No. Should we have brought that too?” Henry asked.

  I shook my head. “The tape signaled Hugh’s pen pal that a message was waiting. By now, he knows the drop’s been compromised. What a colossal waste.”

  For a second, the brothers looked crestfallen, then Jared grinned. “Hey, there’s more. We got back to Dear in time to see fat-ass carry the cooler to his SUV. We snuck a look soon as he went in the house. It was full of money. Big wads of bills. We slid some twenties out.”

  He pulled a bundle of dirty cash from his backpack and thrust it toward Braden.

  The deputy looked anything but pleased. He ignored the cash, staring glumly at the note in his right hand. His look made me antsy. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Braden. I’m the only one who doesn’t know what the note says.”

  “You don’t want to know.” He took a deep breath and read: “GUARD & OFFICE MANAGER SNOOPING. URGE EARLY RETIREMENT WITH NICKEL.”

  I snatched the note from Braden’s hand. A soft lead pencil had formed the blockish capital letters on plain white bond. I read the note a second time. Sweat trickled down my neck.

  Jared looked at me and grinned. “It means you, doesn’t it? You’re the guard.”

  “It proves Hugh’s a murderer, right?” Henry piped up. “He’s asking some mob guy permission to rub you out. You and some office manager. Is Nickel a hit man or a gun?”

  The boys discussed Janie’s and my impending demise with relish. Nickel? What did it mean? Was Woody Nickel about to be retired, too, or was he a hired killer?

  Jared tapped Braden’s arm. “Can we watch while you arrest Hugh?”

  “Sorry, boys.” He pocketed the note. “No arrests today. I can’t prove Hugh wrote this. You two could have invented the whole yarn. Everyone knows you hate him…”

  Jared yelped in protest. “We didn’t. What about the money?” He scrunched his face like a baby primed for a three-alarm wail. “I thought you were different, that you’d stand up to Hugh.”

  The deputy clamped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let me finish. I believe everything you told us. But even if a money-packed ice chest is still in Hugh’s car, I need a warrant. We need evidence we can take to court. I’ll bring Hugh in for questioning, but even if I could prove he wrote this note, there’s no specific threat. You could interpret it six ways to Sunday.”

  Braden shook his head. “I am taking someone into custody, though—the two of you.”

  “Hey, we didn’t do nothing,” Henry objected.

  “Protective custody,” Braden finished. “Suppose Hugh is a mad killer, you think he’ll send you to bed without supper if he finds you tattled to cops? His life would be far more pleasant without you two skulking about.”

  The brothers obviously thought they’d booted Hugh from their miserable lives. As Braden’s verdict sunk in, they slipped back inside their prickly psychic armor. I saw the withdrawal in the set of their jaws, heard it in their voices.

  Jared’s hands curled into fists. “You’re going to dump us in some juvenile detention center with a bunch of unwashed retards while Hugh kills more people?”

  “No,” Braden answered. “Marley tells me you live with your father part of the year. We’ll pack you off to him for the time being.”

  Henry’s lips trembled. He looked ready to cry. “Dad won’t want us,” he blurted. “He hates us. Says we’re bad apples that dropped off Mom’s rotten family tree.”

  Braden and I shared a look. What could we say? For all we knew, the kids had it right. “He’s your father,” I said. “Even if you’re going through a rocky patch, he’ll want to keep you safe.”

  Sullen looks on the boys’ faces said they weren’t convinced.

  “What about Mom?” Jared asked as we trudged toward the security vehicle on loan to Braden. “Hugh will kill her. You gotta tell her to get off the island, too.”

  The deputy responded to the boys’ growing hysteria. “Okay, we’ll drive by your house. If Hugh’s gone, we’ll speak with your mother. Suggest she leave the island.”

  The boys recited their absent father’s phone number, and Braden called on his cell. Hearing both sides of the conversation proved easy. Mr. Cuthbert began to yell as soon as Braden suggested his sons might be in danger. “It’s Hugh Wells, isn’t it? I hired a detective to check him out. That SOB’s tight with the mob. Is he a killer?”

  Braden tried to defuse the situation. “I’m sorry I can’t say more. This is an ongoing investigation. I can’t comment. Please treat our conversation as confidential. I just want to make sure your sons are out of harm’s way.”

  The deputy ended the call as we pulled into the Cuthbert driveway. The boys claimed they’d last seen Hugh’s SUV in the drive, nose out for a speedy exit. The space stood empty now. Had Hugh finished his errands and garaged the vehicle? Was he home?

  “Braden, let me go to the door. You stay in the car with the boys. My face isn’t likely to cause any panic. They’re used to me showing up when the boys screw up.”

  Braden squeezed my hand. “Keep it si
mple—and fast. Just tell Grace we’re taking the twins into protective custody. Tell her to head immediately to her lawyer’s office in Beaufort so the authorities can fully explain the situation.”

  My heart hammered as I stabbed the doorbell. Understandable given that the man of the house wanted to commission my murder. After the tenth singsong bell, a disheveled Grace cracked the door. Her face was puffy, her eyes pink. Any self-respecting rat would have fled her matted hair. Though it was one in the afternoon, she wore a robe and reeked of alcohol.

  “Are you home alone, Mrs. Cuthbert, or is Mr. Wells here with you?” I asked.

  She mumbled she was by her lonesome. After thanking my lucky stars, I launched into a shifty song and dance. I claimed the twins were in danger but declined to name a nemesis. Grace’s bobblehead quivered, and she blinked fast enough to send Morse code. She raised no objections to my plucking her sons from their palatial nest.

  “Okay, we’re taking the boys into protective custody now,” I said. “Please head to Beaufort as quickly as possible. Go to your attorney’s office and ask him to phone the sheriff once you arrive. The authorities will meet you there and explain everything in more detail.”

  Grace’s muddled look told me I might as well be wearing a space suit and speaking Vulcan. Was she safe? As she swayed on her feet, I considered grabbing her arm and tossing her bathrobed body into the backseat with her sons. That would only split open a new hornet’s nest.

  I bid the lady goodbye and walked back to the car. A glance at the boys broke my heart. Their eyes remained locked on their mom, who swayed in the doorway, her face clouded with confusion. Henry put knuckled fists to his eyes, while Jared bit his lips.

  Despite everything, they still loved their mother.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Braden drove the car part way down the boat launch ramp, opened his door with the engine idling, and signaled the captain. “Wait, please. It’s police business.”

  The captain looked up from untying lines. “Don’t have a coronary. We’ll wait.”

  Braden swung back into the driver’s seat and started to close the door.

  “Go on, get out,” I urged. “I can park it. I’ll even walk home so you have a car waiting when you get back.”

  His head snapped up. “What? No. You’re coming with us.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to warn Janie. Someone knows she’s snooping.”

  “We’ll phone her from the ferry,” he countered, “and I’ll have the sheriff assign a deputy to protect her. I’ll tell him to keep an eye on Nickel, too, since we don’t know if he’s a hired gun or on someone’s hit list.”

  I bit my lip. He wouldn’t like my answer. “There’s nothing for me to do in Beaufort. You can handle the boys alone. The chief and Janie need my help here. The memorial service for Stew and Bea starts in forty-five minutes. Janie’s picking me up, and I promised the Condolence Committee I’d bring brownies.”

  The set of the deputy’s jaw suggested he was grinding his teeth, attempting to stay cool in front of our young charges. “Brownies? You’re worried about brownies? Boys, go on. Get on the ferry, Ms. Clark and I need a minute alone.”

  The twins didn’t move. Probably figured I was in for a verbal thrashing and didn’t want to miss the show. “Move!” Braden barked.

  Before they could close the car doors, he whispered fiercely, “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. I sort of understand why you refused to pack up and leave before. But now you’re a sitting duck. Hugh’s note wasn’t subtle. Do I need to take you into protective custody, too, handcuffs and all?”

  I raised my hands, palms out, fingers spread. “Calm down. Remember, Kain didn’t get Hugh’s note. Nothing’s changed since morning except we now know Hugh’s the island snitch and someone caught Janie snooping.”

  I paused for a breath. “Nickel? We knew he was a player before the note. If Janie and I put our heads together, maybe we can figure how Hugh and all that cash might tie into a land flip or some other real estate scam. She’s got her finger on the island pulse.”

  “I already told you what that cash means,” Braden whispered. “Kain’s laundering money through Dear Island. I’d bet on it.”

  “All the more reason for Janie and me to compare notes. She has more than a nodding acquaintance with Dear’s cash flows. Look, it’s broad daylight. Kain’s thugs won’t attack the two of us at a memorial service in a crowded chapel. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll even take my gun to church. Just hurry. Go get your warrants and reinforcements, then hightail it back here before sundown.”

  Braden’s prolonged sigh sounded like air escaping a punctured pool float. “You win…about this afternoon. But I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight.”

  “Deal.” I leaned across the car console to kiss him. The minute our lips locked I shoved him toward the open door. “Don’t think I’m a pushover though. Chief Dixon already gave orders for us to ride together tonight.”

  “You’re going on patrol—tonight? Good God, woman, you’re driving me nuts.”

  I watched as the deputy race-walked toward the ferry, his muscular backside eye candy for any female who wasn’t cataract-impaired. A second after he jumped aboard, the ferry shoved off and I was alone. At least I hoped so. My courage was part bravado. Kain was right about me having an active imagination. I could populate any landscape with bogeymen.

  A perusal of the marina parking lot revealed no unusual commotion. In fact, there was a total absence of activity. I figured most islanders were getting ready for Stew’s and Bea’s wake. No ghoulish reporters were visible either. Probably napping while they waited for the next spate of murders.

  I locked the car and walked briskly down the leisure path. The pleasure of warm sunshine and the twitter of birds momentarily lifted my mood. When a horn tooted, I jumped.

  My friend Rita pulled her golf cart onto the verge. “Want a ride? I just bought milk at the marina store. It’s a lot less crowded than E.T. Grits.”

  I smiled. “I could use a lift.”

  Should I ask her to run me by the real estate office for a quick tête-à-tête with Janie? No. Someone might overhear us in the office. Besides it would be quicker to call.

  I phoned the minute I walked in the house. Janie had already left. Figuring she’d ring my doorbell in a matter of minutes, I took a perfunctory shower. The speed made me feel like I’d entered an automatic car wash: soap, rinse, dry, exit. Too bad I didn’t have a heat lamp—my headlights were still damp when I tugged on my bra. A squirt of perfume, a brush through my wet hair, and a pair of earrings later, I was ready to whip up icing.

  Long ago I discovered I could pass off store-bought brownies as a gourmet treat so long as I smothered the results with Aunt May’s scratch icing. I draped a dishtowel around my shoulders to keep splatters off my funeral duds then mixed sugar, butter and milk in a saucepan. I stirred patiently until the mixture erupted in a roiling boil. When the bubbling brew threatened to escape the pot, I pulled it off the stove, dumped in semi-sweet chocolates and “beat like hell” per May’s recipe instructions.

  If only I knew how to pull the boiling Dear Island pot from the fire.

  ***

  Janie honked five minutes ahead of schedule. I juggled the pan of brownies while I locked the deadbolt behind me.

  I slid into the pink Caddy’s front seat and glanced at Janie. “You look pretty.” My friend’s ruby red dress featured a mandarin collar, a slim oriental drape and a slit halfway to China. Hardly conventional funeral attire, but it suited. She’d twisted her blonde hair into a conservative chignon. Somehow the overall impression came closer to demure than come-hither.

  “Thanks. I figure I better play dress up while I can. Who knows when I’ll be living out of a dumpster and dressing like a bag lady? My best guess is I’ll be out on the street next week.”

  Primed to do an information dump of my own, I bit my tongue and waited to hear Janie’s news. Once I scared her, she might
forget something, a detail that mattered.

  “What are you nattering about?” I asked.

  Janie looked past me to my porch. “Wait. Where’s your cop? Is he coming? I ought to tell you both at the same time.”

  “Tell us what? Braden left for the mainland. He’ll be lucky to make the last ferry.” The deputy would have a busy afternoon what with phone calls, interrogations and search warrants. I prayed Grace had enough functioning brain cells to phone her attorney and head to Beaufort without Hugh.

  “Well, guess the deputy will have to wait for the skinny,” Janie continued.

  “Okay, you’ve got my full attention. What?”

  “With Sally and Gator both off island for Bea’s funeral, I had a perfect opportunity to nose around, especially when Woody didn’t show for work. The office was like a candy store. No worries about some yahoo walking in on me while I rifled desks.

  “But Bea’s memorial service proved briefer than a pair of low-rise panties. Maybe the minister was stumped, trying to say something nice. Whatever. Gator and Sally came back while I was rummaging through my boss’s files. When I heard him say, ‘Janie’s not here. We can talk,’ I panicked and hid in the closet.”

  My friend’s hand left the wheel to make a cuckoo motion at her temple. “Can’t believe how loony that was, hiding. I’m in and out of Gator’s office a gazillion times a day. No reason to hide. But I did, and I sweat bullets, afraid to breathe. Then the two of ’em started discussin’ this secret rendezvous with Kain. They met him in the basement of the mortuary.”

  “They what?” I was flabbergasted.

  “Hold on, it gets better. At first, Gator and Sally talked normal—like they were comparin’ 401K funds. But they always whispered Kain’s name. Gave me the willies. It was as if he were some demon who might spring out of the closet. Glad they didn’t check.”

  “All right, already, spit it out. We’re almost to the chapel. What did they say to wind you up like a top?”

  She took a deep breath. “Woody’s dead. Murdered.” Janie paused. “Guess that sort of explains why he didn’t come to work.”