by Amy Vansant
She never could figure out why anyone would want to smell like a Christmas tree, but she was thrilled to obliterate the smell of rotting deer blood with Rose Petal Riot.
Slipping into some comfortable clothes, she tossed her clothes into a plastic bag and ran them out to the trash. There would be no saving them.
When she returned, Abby sniffed her over and then parked herself in front of the door, just in case something delicious crawled back inside.
Charlotte found Declan at her kitchen table, picking through Bucky’s case file.
“This stuff is pretty gruesome,” he said, flipping over the photos of Bucky’s autopsy.
“I know. They had Frank swearing to be cremated. Do you want some wine?”
“Sure. Maybe one to get my shoulders to un-bunch before I head back. Hey, I never did ask how things went with your Bucky investigation today.”
She sighed as she poured two glasses of merlot. “Terrible. I didn’t find anything, oh, except this.”
She slipped a Tupperware container from the top of the refrigerator as Declan retrieved his glass. Unsealing the plastic box, she held it out so he could inspect the stinky substance she’d found on the roof deck.
Declan jerked away. “Ugh. That smells almost as bad as you.”
“I took a shower.”
“I mean before.”
“Mm.” Charlotte caught a whiff of the putrid mass, and the little spark that had first flared to life upon finding it, this time fanned into a flame.
“Potato!” she barked, as if it were a profanity.
Declan chuckled. “Potato? Is that what the retirees say instead of cursing now?”
“No, it’s potato. I thought there was something familiar about this stink. It’s rotten, raw potato.”
“How’d you come up with that?”
“I keep my potatoes up here on the fridge in this basket, and every once in a while I lose track of one and whew! They do not go gentle into that dark night, I can tell you that.”
“Huh. How weird.”
She resealed the Tupperware. “You’re Irish. Isn’t knowing potatoes in every state of being bred into your blood from birth?”
“Very funny. Actually, I am a potato freak, you have me there, but I’ve never tried fermenting them on my fridge before.”
“All the kids are doing it.”
“I bet.”
Charlotte slid the container back on top of her refrigerator.
“So what does that mean?” asked Declan, handing her the other glass of wine.
“What? The fact that there was potato at the crime scene?”
He nodded.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing I’m sure. Probably, some bird dropped it. Stole it from some restaurant’s trash or something.”
“Are you going to take it to the police for testing?”
“A pile of stinky goo? They’d laugh me out the precinct. I think I only kept it so I could feel like I’d done something useful.”
Charlotte grimaced. Something Declan had said a moment before struck her as odd.
“Hey...when I realized that gunk was potato you said How weird in an odd, sort of wry, way. Almost like it was ironically not weird. Why did you say that?”
“Did I? You read that much into the phrase how weird?”
She nodded.
He wandered back to the kitchen table. “Well, for one, it’s weird finding potato at a crime scene, but you’re right, there was more to it. When you went to get a shower, I hopped on your computer to check my email and saw these pictures. Does this girl have something to do with the case?”
He woke the laptop and pointed to the screen as he slid into a chair. Charlotte peered over his shoulder.
“That’s Shawna’s Instagram page—the girl Bucky was with when he died.”
“That’s the girl Bucky was with? Oh my.”
“I know. She’s a tad young for him. Anyway, she was the only one with him when it happened, but she didn’t see it happen. She was down in his apartment, according to her.”
“But you think she had something to do with it?”
“Possibly, but I don’t get an bad vibe from her. I keep thinking she might know more than she knows she knows, though, you know?”
“I know.” He chuckled as he rolled through the feed and then gestured to the screen. “Here. It was this.”
Declan pointed to the photo she’d seen earlier of Shawna and her brother Dallas. He tapped on the image of a long black tube leaning against Dallas’ pile of junk from college.
“What? Is that something special? I figured it was some kind of sports equipment.”
“You really don’t know what it is?”
“No. Should I?”
He thought for a moment. “I guess not.”
She shook his shoulder in frustration. “Well, what is it?”
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s my cut if I tell you?”
“One kiss.”
“Two and we have a deal.”
She pecked him twice on the lips.
He smiled. “Wow. That was super corny.”
“I know. We’re adorable. Now tell me.”
“Fine. It’s a potato gun.”
“A what? That’s a thing?”
“That’s a thing. Homemade with black PVC pipe. See the lawn mower ignition connected to it? That’s the real giveaway that he isn’t just a student plumber with homework. That PVC pipe shoots potatoes like a cannon.”
“You’re telling me I found rotting potato next to the crime scene, and the brother of one of the suspects owns a potato gun? That’s quite a coincidence.”
“I’d say.”
“How many of those can there be out there?”
“Potato guns? Millions.”
“Really?”
“Okay, millions might be an exaggeration, but they’re not that weird. Kids make them in high school and college.”
“So you’ve built one of these before?”
He nodded and she shook her head, baffled.
“Boy, men are even weirder than I thought.”
He chuckled. “You have no idea. So do you think Bucky’s girlfriend stole her brother’s potato gun and shot him with it?”
Charlotte’s lips twisted into a knot as she tried to picture Shawna using the PVC gun. “I don’t know. She had access to him during his most unguarded moments. Why blast him off a roof? And a potato cannon doesn’t really seem like your average girl’s weapon of choice.”
“I’ve heard that’s poison.”
“Speaking of which, do you want something to eat?”
“Nice timing. I’ll pass. It’s later than you think.”
Charlotte looked at the clock on her stove and saw that it was nearly two in the morning. “Oh gosh. No wonder I’m exhausted. Arm wrestling, cow herding, blood bathing...”
Declan moved to stand, but she leaned on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat.
“Wait, don’t go yet. I’m thinking about Dallas.”
“Texas?”
“No, Dallas is Shawna’s brother’s name. It’s his potato gun.”
She grabbed the thumb drive she’d found in Bucky’s file and popped it back into her computer before sitting down. Flipping through video of people entering the marina building, she paused on a familiar couple.
Declan leaned to see the screen. “That’s video from Bucky’s building?”
“Yes. And that’s Bucky and Shawna,” she said, pointing as two figures entered the building.
Not long after the couple disappeared, a man wearing a black, hooded sweatshirt approached the door. She paused the screen and did her best to magnify the image.
“Does that look weird to you?” she said, pointing at the man’s back.
Declan squinted at the blurry image. “It looks shaded there. Sort of square and cut-off?”
“It’s hard to tell, but that’s what I was thinking...like there is
something covering his back.”
The video was in black and white and not high resolution, but Charlotte could discern four light colored half-circles sitting low on his sweatshirt. They appeared to be the lower half of a larger design that had been covered.
“I think he duct-taped over a logo.”
Declan nodded and pointed to the same row of circular spots to which she’d been drawn. “What are these at the bottom?”
“I can’t make it out. It’s like four little bird faces with beaks?”
He grunted. “Maybe. I could see that. But it would be weird.”
“Think. What would it be? A sports team logo maybe? Why would he want to cover it up?”
Declan stretched his back and yawned. “Because it identifies him? Maybe it’s from a place that he works?”
Charlotte jumped in her chair. “Yes. Or a place he goes to school.” She switched to a browser and searched for Florida International University. When the logo appeared, they both gasped.
“A paw.”
One version of the college logo had the initials of the school with a panther crawling forward from it. The outstretched paw had four toes, four circular toes with claws in the center of each, which looked very much like bird beaks.
“Shawna said Dallas goes to college at FIU. It has to be him.”
“But he isn’t carrying a potato gun.”
“Isn’t he?” She rewound the film and they watched him appear in frame and open the door. He walked with a stiff, unnatural gait, his back to the camera. “He could be holding it against his body. We just can’t see it from this camera angle.”
“I guess—”
“Oh!” Charlotte yelped and pushed the laptop aside to dig through the police report papers until she retrieved a photo of Bucky on the slab.
“Round bruises,” she said, pointing to Bucky’s naked chest. “Think a potato bruise would look like this?”
Declan pressed his lips tight, nodding slowly. “I can only guess, mind you, since my high school buddies and I were careful not to shoot each other with potatoes, but yes.”
“Could the force of one of those knock someone over a railing?”
“They could definitely get the process started. They’re powerful.”
“So I’m not crazy?”
“To think Bucky’s mistress’ brother killed him with a potato gun?”
“Yes.”
“As crazy as that sounds, no. You certainly have enough to take it to the police and let them sort it out.”
She grinned and then sobered.
“What is it?” asked Declan.
“Shawna. I wonder if she was in on it.”
“Killing Bucky meant no more gifts for her.”
“Unless she talked him into putting her in his will. Oh no...”
“What?”
“I think I have to call Stephanie.”
Declan snarled much the way he had after smelling the potato and stood. “I’m afraid if you talk to her after midnight she appears.”
“You’re right. It’s too late. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow.”
“Call her. She doesn’t sleep. I bet you five bucks she doesn’t even mention how late it is.”
“Really?” Charlotte found her phone and dialed. She was about to hang up when Stephanie answered.
“If it isn’t Miss Charlotte,” said Stephanie.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you so late, but I have a quick question for you.”
“You need tips on how to please Declan? I knew this call was coming. Is he there? I’ll try and talk you through, keeping in mind your limited assets and skill set.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and did her best to control her temper. If she made Stephanie angry, she wouldn’t receive the answer to her question.
“No, thanks. It’s about Bucky. Have you seen his will?”
“His will? What’s that got to do with anything?”
Stephanie’s voice grew sharp and her demeanor changed, like a cat shifting from playing with a mouse to preparing to devour it.
“I’m following a lead and I wanted to know if he left anything to anyone other than Cora.”
“Why?”
Charlotte paused. She didn’t want to say too much and give Stephanie the opportunity to share her findings with the competition. “I don’t want to say, not yet, but it would be helpful.”
Stephanie paused. “They’re executing the will Monday. Cora will be at her lawyer’s office. I can text you the information.”
Charlotte was so taken aback by Stephanie’s helpful demeanor she found herself stunned into silence.
“Is that all?” asked Stephanie.
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
“Thanks for redecorating my car, by the way. Don’t think it went unnoticed.”
For Charlotte, mirth and dread swirled in equal parts as Stephanie hung up.
“How’d that go?” asked Declan.
“Strangely well.”
“Don’t be fooled. She does that to keep us guessing.”
“You’re right. Now is when I should be most scared. But she says she’s going to text me the information I need to find out if Shawna is in Bucky’s will.”
“Good. At least it looks like you have a pretty strong case against Dallas.”
Charlotte nodded in agreement and decided to keep her findings from the police for a little longer. First she’d flesh out her theory as much as possible by confirming Shawna was in or out of Bucky’s will, and then she’d present the police—and Cora—with everything she had.
Surely, solving Bucky’s murder would win Penny her land.
But first, she needed to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Day Bucky Died
Stephanie sat on the edge of the dock, eating popcorn and staring up at Bucky Bloom. Predictably, the old letch was enjoying his evening Scotch atop the marina apartments where he met with his Twinkie every Tuesday.
Soon they’d go out to dinner and blah, blah, blah.
Men are the worst.
Sure, she’d cheated on Declan during their romance, but that hadn’t been about something as base as sex. That had been about money.
Entirely different.
She considered her history with Declan a moment longer, and found she had to admit one caveat.
Her cheating on Declan had mostly been about money.
The Argentinean polo player had been a little bit about sex.
I’m only human.
Peering back at the roof, she knew she shouldn’t complain about finding Bucky there. His predictability made him easy to tail and easier still to manipulate. Their time together was drawing to a close, though. The sooner she had Bucky’s land for her mother, the sooner she could get back to her own life.
For now, she couldn’t let Bucky out of her sight. That was the secret to her success. She left nothing to chance. She didn’t assume Bucky would show up on time for Twinkie Tuesday—she watched Bucky show up for Twinkie Tuesday
Speaking of the Twinkie...
Shawna appeared on the roof beside Bucky, leaning over the railing, her arms thrust behind her, her long dark hair fluttering in the wind.
Re-enacting Titanic.
How original.
The girl disappeared and Bucky returned to sipping his drink.
Stephanie was about to look away when Bucky suddenly spun, turning his back toward the railing. There was a muffled boom! and his torso flung back, weight shifting.
She clocked the moment he reached the point of no return. Unable to stop his momentum, Bucky flipped over the railing and began a rapid decent.
Stephanie traced his drop, the fall stopping abruptly fifty feet before he should have hit the docks below. Her jaw creaked open as Bucky, impaled on the mast of his own boat, twitched one last time and fell still.
That was insane.
She saw a flash of something black crouching below the wall where Bucky had been standing. She grabbed her binoculars and kept her gaz
e trained on the spot, but whatever she’d seen, it never resurfaced.
A crunching bang! echoed behind her and she turned in time to watch a sailboat slam into one of the docks. The woman on the sailboat’s bow uttered a yip of surprise and tumbled into the water. The flustered captain threw up his hands and panicked, slamming the boat into drive and then reverse several times.
Stephanie laughed.
Could this get any better?
She turned her attention to the door of the marina and remained riveted to it for nearly two hours, patiently watching every policeman enter and leave. It took them an hour to move the sailboat to the dockside club mast crane, remove the mast, and slide Bucky from it. The entire process was fascinating. It made it difficult to keep her attention focused on the door.
Once the police cleared the area and Bucky and Twinkie had been carted away, each in very different states of being, Stephanie spotted her prize exit the building.
“There you are, you little scamp,” she mumbled.
Surprise, surprise.
She crumpled the popcorn bag in her hand and stood.
I have a lot to do.
Barely containing her grin, she headed for her car.
Things had gotten much more interesting.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After Bucky’s Fall
Stephanie followed the figure leaving the marina apartment building on foot and then by car. Tailing people was the only time she regretted owning a Dodge Viper. Fiery red sports vehicles didn’t exactly blend in.
Her suspect’s car didn’t head where she’d expected. Instead, it pulled onto a very familiar road with only one large house on it.
Bucky’s house.
The car stopped in front of Bucky’s. The figure hopped out and ran to the front door as Stephanie watched from a distance.
Isn’t this interesting.
Stephanie took a moment to think, running through every possible scenario. She wanted to make sure that once she knocked on that door, there were no surprises.
She turned off the Viper and made her way to Bucky’s door.
A housekeeper answered.
“Nobody is home,” she said, before Stephanie could ask or state her business. In the background, she could hear a woman’s voice, frantic.
She sighed and tilted her head to the side as if regarding a child.