by Agatha Ball
"He's okay!" I said to them, trying to call off the guard. If I didn't intercede, this sympathetic army would be marching over to the dive shack to descend upon Johnny with hugs and warm blankets. This crew of women would put the Red Cross to shame.
"Still, we should probably bring him a meal..." said Holly. Holly ran the general store, which was basically just a convenience shop with an overlay of old-timey character. She liked to wear her mousy brown hair up in a bun like a Gibson girl. Her suggestion was met with more clucking and nodding of heads.
"I'll bring a casserole!" Marnie volunteered.
"We should put together a food train for the next two weeks!"
"It was just a horrible accident. Old man Byron was probably just out walking and got hit by a rogue wave or something," I offered, hoping to get their energies redirected.
"Rogue wave my ass," said Granny, slapping her behind for emphasis. "That man wouldn't have gone out to enjoy the sights of the ocean if a pod of naked mermaids was spotted on the shore."
"You think it was murder?" whispered Holly in a scandalized tone.
"Whoever did it, Byron had it coming," Granny pronounced.
All the women's heads bobbed up and down in agreement.
"And I heard his nephew came into town," said Holly, looking at me for confirmation, as if they all didn't already know that Nate had come into the shop earlier.
"Well, there you have it!" said Wanda, as if that proved something.
"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" I said, holding up my hands to slow their roll a bit. "You all are jumping deep into the conclusions."
There was a pause as they all looked at me with pity, that look you get when someone is about to launch into a speech about how you'll understand someday.
"Paige, you don't know that family," said Granny, wagging a painted nail my direction. "I mean, sure the old man is one of the founders of Seaside. But that man was a bastard."
"I'm sure he wasn't that bad..."
"No, I mean literally, he was the illegitimate son of the family and there was this whole... THING... about how he shouldn't have gotten the family money and the land. That nephew of his... Nate, right?"
I nodded that she had gotten the guy's name right.
"Well, I seem to remember that the inheritance of the land was supposed to be Nate's, and it went to Byron instead because Nate wasn't of age."
"Bet he attacked Nate and Nate just defended himself," noted Holly conspiringly.
"By pushing his uncle into the ocean," added Wanda.
"Byron was a mean old man," Marnie reiterated, in case I missed it before.
I grabbed a couple of cookies from the counter and poured two to-go cups of coffee. I backed toward the door. "I'll be right back," I replied, but they were all so caught up in their conspiracy theories, they didn't even notice.
I figured this was probably a good time to go and see how Nate was doing and whether I had agreed to hang out tomorrow with a murderer.
Chapter Four
I walked up to the base of the hill and stared up at the Founder's House. It was this ornate Victorian. Or perhaps a better description was "was" an ornate Victorian. At one point, I'm sure it was one of the prettiest houses ever built. It had gingerbread trim, curved bow windows, and a turret topped with a witch's hat roofline. There was a wrap-around porch and sunburst panels over the windows. The roof had fish-scale shingles and a weather vane that was shaped like a ship.
But the good old days seemed to have come and gone long ago. The dark green paint was peeling and the porch was sagging. The white picket fence was missing a few pickets and the garden had grown over. There was a brick sidewalk leading to the front door, but it was wonky and uneven as the grass pushed through the crevices. In the center of the yard was a three-tiered fountain that was now clogged up with dead leaves and twigs.
The gate was hanging open and I walked inside. The front door was inset with a stained glass window of a stormy ocean. I couldn't decide if it was ironic or appropriate that it was the sea that finally took Old Man Byron.
There was a big, iron bell-pull hanging by the door. I half expected it to pull the house down when I yanked on it. But I could hear a bell ringing inside, so I hoped that I had made the right decision.
A few minutes later, the door opened and revealed Nate. His formerly mocha-colored face was practically white as a sheet. His brown eyes were red and rimmed with dark circles. His hair was sweaty and a mess. He looked like crap.
"Hi," I said. He seemed to not even recognize me. I gave him an awkward wave as I tried to jog his memory. "Paige. From down at the coffee shop? You asked me if I wanted to show you around the beach? I know you said tomorrow, but..." My voice trailed off as I suddenly felt like this was a super dumb idea.
He ran his fingers through his light brown hair as if suddenly realizing where he was. He cleared his throat as he pulled himself together. "Right! Of course I remember you. I'm sorry. It's... um... I don't think I'm up for a tour of the beach right now."
He turned and walked into the house. Though he left the door open, he didn't invite me in. Any idiot could see the poor guy was in shock, so I made the executive decision to follow him. He wasn't in any shape to be left alone.
"I didn't mean that I was here to take you to the beach. I just heard... I'm so sorry about your uncle," I called out as I stepped into the foyer and shut the door behind me.
If a person's home is truly an indication of someone's mind, his uncle was a wreck. The entire hallway was stacked almost floor to ceiling with magazines and paperwork. There were boxes labeled: "Sort" and "Toss." But his uncle seemed to have gotten distracted halfway through.
Nate turned around, suddenly realizing that he had left me behind. He looked like he was about to apologize, but I held out my hand to stop him. "Go. Sit down. I brought you some food."
"That's what people do in these sorts of situations, isn't it?" Nate said, looking at the coffee holder I was carrying with some recognition.
I'd take recognition. Seemed a few steps ahead of where we were moments ago. "Where shall I put these?"
He looked around. "The place is such a disaster... I don't even know."
I took his arm and steered him into the parlor. The walls were covered in red, flocked, wallpaper with a fleur-de-lis pattern. There were ratty-looking velvet sofas with carved arms and legs. They looked like what you'd find inside a dollhouse... if the dollhouse people had come to life and spilled on them every day for thirty years. I pushed aside a stack of newspapers on the marble coffee table, clearing just enough space to put the stuff from Granny's shop. I then heaped the dirty laundry from the sofa onto the floor and steered Nate to the seat. I put a cup of coffee in one of his hands and a cookie in the other.
"Thank you," he said, again as if just remembering that I was there.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I just came to the house," he said. "There was a note on the door saying that my uncle was going to be back in five minutes. I came inside. The door was unlocked. I couldn't believe how bad things had gotten..." He looked around, aghast at the room. I followed his eyes, seeing every cobweb in every corner. "It wasn't always like this..." he explained.
I patted his arm. And man, I know the guy was in the middle of grieving and my brain shouldn't have gone there, but he had some muscular forearms under that flannel shirt. I tried to cover my inappropriateness with sympathy. "I'm sure it wasn't."
He took a sip of his coffee and looked surprised. "Just the way I like it."
"I remembered from when you came in earlier," I said. "Strong enough to punch you in the mouth?"
He nodded and I could see that he was really grateful someone would extend a kindness. "Better a punch to the mouth than a kick to the teeth."
"So... you came in..." I prodded him.
He motioned to the room. "And the place was just like it is now. I waited and waited and then the phone rang. My uncle doesn't have voicemail or an answering machine, so I picked up." His eye
s pricked with tears. "Um... and then the police... well... the police were on the phone..." I saw him wrestling with his emotions. "Sorry," he apologized as he squashed everything down. "It's just... I lost my parents not too long ago. I'm an only child. Uncle Byron wasn't the nicest guy, but... he was all I had left."
I dug around the paper bag and pulled out some paper napkins and handed them to him. "I’m so sorry."
"Do you know what happened?" he asked.
I nodded. "Everyone knows."
"Oh."
"It's a small town... text messages... also..." I didn't quite know how to introduce this particular facet of the story. "Um... I... um... my friend was the guy who discovered your uncle's body... and I was with him."
His pale face got even paler. He stared down at his coffee cup like he wished he could stuff all his feelings beneath the lid and throw everything away. "Oh," was all he said for a bit. And then he cleared his throat. "I should go thank your friend."
"Johnny," I offered. "He runs the dive shop down by the beach. I can take you down to him. You know. Whenever you're ready."
"Right," replied Nate. "That would be great. Maybe not today, but tomorrow. Or something."
"Sure!" I replied, resting my hand on his arm once again. "Tomorrow. Or whenever. There's no rush."
The bell suddenly rang again and he looked up, as if bracing himself for another shock. I guess if you have a day like the one he was having, you start responding to doorbells and phone calls like a tragic version of Pavlov's dog. He got to his feet and walked to the door and I followed. He opened it. I saw over his shoulder that it was Seaside's two friendly, neighborhood police officers, Stan and Fred.
"Hello. Would you care to come in?" he asked, stepping aside.
"Sure." Officer Stan swaggered in, glancing up at the ceiling and around the foyer like all his suspicions were confirmed. "We just have a few questions we're hoping you can clear up for us."
"Of course," replied Nate. "I'd be happy to."
Officer Stan saw me and gave me a nod.
Officer Fred bustled forward like he was holding me back from rushing them. He held up his hands and got between me and the rest of the group. "We'd prefer to speak to Nate alone."
I couldn't believe these guys. I mean, just from a human sympathy point of view. "I was just on my way out," I replied.
Nate reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. "Thank you for stopping by, Paige," he said. "It means a lot to have someone who cares."
There was a look of such gratitude on his face. It felt a whole lot better to see that than the abject despair I had witnessed about ten minutes earlier.
"Sure," I answered. "Let me know if there's anything I can do. Make phone calls. Bring you some meals. Whatever."
He nodded. "I have a feeling that I'm going to take you up on that."
I smiled as Nate ushered the officers into the living room and I showed myself out. I shut the heavy door behind me. As I looked out at the overgrown yard, I couldn't help but think about all the mess Nate had unintentionally inherited.
Chapter Five
The news came the next day. I had just finished opening the shop. The air hung thick with the smell of cinnamon and butter and freshly brewed coffee. There were a few early risers who came in to get a little nosh, but otherwise, things would stay pretty quiet until the ferry boat came in. Later, folks would either be looking for a warm cup of something to drink on the ride home or be jonesing for some caffeine after getting off. But this early, it was just the folks up for a morning walk. The newspaper wouldn't come in until the ferry arrived, so there really wasn't even an excuse to get up early for that.
I was leaning on the counter, getting caught up on yesterday's stories, when the doorbell tinkled. I looked up to see Johnny. He was wearing his board shorts and his dive shop t-shirt.
"You're up early," I said to him.
He shook his hand, pinkie and thumb sticking out. "Surf's up."
"Right," I smiled, grabbing the tongs and sticking a couple cinnamon rolls into a bag for him. Only reason he'd get out of bed was to catch a wave. And by a wave, I mean "a" wave. There wasn't a lot to surf on this shore. But he was always happy with whatever he got. I held the bag out for him.
"Thanks, Paige!" he said with a smile, but then his brows furrowed like he was trying to remember something. "Oh! That Nate guy?"
"Yes?" I asked, suddenly ready to give him my full attention.
"Hope you guys didn’t have plans today.”
“He asked me to show him the beach, but then... well... things got a little complicated, so I think it's off. Why?”
“Oh." He scratched the back of his neck. "He just got arrested.”
“He what?” I asked, dumbstruck.
He looked in the bag and pulled back the paper edges. He took a great big bite and spoke as he chewed. “Yeah. Turns out, he murdered his uncle.”
My jaw dropped open.
He jerked his thumb to the shore. "Want to come out with me?”
I shook my head, too dumbstruck to put words together. "No. I have to work.”
He gave me double thumbs up and jogged out the door.
Just as he left, Granny came wandering down from her upstairs apartment. This morning she was wearing a fuzzy, yellow sweater that reminded me of a baby duck and she had switched out her nail polish for something in more of the banana palette.
"I'm headed out to meet the girls for breakfast. Was that Johnny?" she asked with a smile. She fully supported my efforts to make sure he got fed every day. In fact, when I wasn't around, she usually just packaged up all of the day-old food and took it over to his dive shop.
But today I was having trouble focusing on Johnny. “They ARRESTED Nate for murder,” I informed her.
Granny hadn't met him and, to her, Nate was nothing more than a point of gossip. She shrugged her shoulders as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the pump pot. "Goodness. Well, he arrived in town and there was a murder. Hasn’t been a murder here in years. Correlation is not causation, but it seems awfully coincidental.”
But I needed her to understand how this was all wrong. “I’m sure he didn't do it. He was SO nice,” I explained, but it came out sounding so lame.
“You need to watch out for the nice ones, dear,” she clucked as she kissed me on the cheek and headed out. "It is always the nice ones!"
I watched as she sashayed across the street to meet up with her posse. They took off, heads together, as they caught one another up on all the gossip.
It couldn't have been Nate. It just couldn't! It wasn't just that he was nice, he was... normal. Just a guy who came out to help his uncle. And he was all alone here on this island with no one to help him. I wiped down the counters out of habit. I mean, even if Stan and Fred remembered to give him a phone call, there was no way he could get a lawyer here by the morning ferry. And then it was the weekend and he'd be locked up in the jail cell until Monday.
A thought formulated in my head that wouldn't let go until my shift was over. Nate needed a friend, and it looked like I was the only one he had. I sped through the rest of the day in a haze, but the moment that clock hit noon, I packed up a lunch bag with as many goodies as I could squeeze into it and the moment Granny came back, I headed toward the door.
"Going somewhere?" asked Granny as she put on her apron, making sure to refluff her magenta hair in case it had gotten mussed.
"Just going to see how things are going for Nate," I replied. "See how he's being treated."
"I'm sure Stan'll treat him fine," she dismissed.
Having seen Stan in action, I wasn't so sure. "I'll be back soon," I said, my hand on the handle.
"Don't make me have to call your mother to tell her you're marrying a convict because of some forbidden love nonsense!"
"I promise I won't marry a convict," I replied, backing out.
"Better not! I've done some stupid stuff in my time and I support you upping the ante. But nothing THAT stupid."
"Cro
ss my heart."
She pointed her finger at me and her reading glasses slid down her nose. "Better not hope to die."
I blew her a kiss and dashed out onto the street.
Chapter Six
The city jail was a two-cell joint about a block away from Bitter Beans. It was mainly used as a drunk tank for the idiot tourists who didn't understand just because we were living on an island didn't mean the ferry was a booze cruise. The jail was shaped like a brown, concrete box, circa late 1960s. Above its glass doors were stone carvings of the great seal of the United States of America.
Despite it being positively gorgeous out, the air conditioning was running full tilt and blasted me as I walked inside. I rubbed my arms to chase the goosebumps away. Stan looked up at me from the front desk, which was a brown, square piece of walnut that matched the outside of the building pretty perfectly.
He looked at my bag and then, using his brilliant powers of deduction, asked, "Did you bring those for us?"
I gave him a sweet smile. "Maybe."
"Maybe?" he said, narrowing his eyes. I guess he wasn't really the playful type.
"Compliments of the house," I continued, placing them onto his desk.
He was immediately all smiles again, rubbing his fingertips as he opened up the bag. He pulled out a cinnamon roll and tucked a paper napkin into the front of his shirt.
I leaned forward. "Listen, Stan, I heard that you got Nate locked up.”
He answered with his mouth full, little flecks of bread spraying across his paperwork. "Sure do. Open and shut case."
"Really?" I asked, wondering if somehow something had come to light that was going to make me look like an ignorant jerk.
"We're still gathering evidence," he said to me with a wink, "but I'm pretty sure we got our man."