With a little sweet-talking, Jimmy had shared some details about the investigation. He told her the police discovered a kayak was pulled ashore on Goat Island around high tide the night before. Gilbert Kane arrived on the island close to high tide, and, according to the estimated time of death, died not too long after that. Someone else was on Goat Island at the same time as Gilbert, most likely the killer.
And the killer came by kayak.
***
Matt Fredericks saw Sabrina coming and groaned inwardly. He still felt sick whenever he thought about the fish swimming in and out of Gilbert Kane’s mouth, and he knew Sabrina would insist on asking more questions about what he had seen. She was very thorough. He had so many other things on his mind, like how he was going to attract more people to his lodge, or get the money to patch the perpetually leaking roof. But he was too professional to show his weariness, or to let his money problems spoil his customer-friendly smile. Even if Sabrina wasn’t a customer. Word of mouth happened, he liked to tell his staff, you never knew who, when, why, or how.
“Miss Sabrina! Sergeant Jimmy said he wanted to talk to you immediately. He was called away but you’re to call him first thing. Here’s his cell phone number.”
Sabrina accepted the piece of paper from him as if he was proffering raw squid with a dash of liver. “And…how did he seem?” she asked.
“Pretty steamed. The sergeant was muttering under his breath the whole time he wrote the note. Something about ‘doesn’t listen any better than a crab pot’.”
“Hmmm.” Sabrina put the piece of paper in her purse and looked at Matt with her big, blue eyes. “I understand the Hummers are going to resume their sessions tomorrow. Where are they going to go?”
Matt ran his fingers through his hair. “The only other island that will work is Dead Man’s Island. I told Mr. Siderius that perhaps it might not be appropriate and offered the picnic area again, but he insisted on the island. He said members of the group are threatening to go home if they aren’t assured of their privacy.”
And if he lost this group, he was in serious trouble. People looked at the Shell Lodge and saw a thriving, successful business. Matt looked at it and saw hurricane damage, exorbitant taxes, and rising insurance. It was a money pit, but it was his money pit, and he would do anything to save it.
Sabrina was still watching him with an expectant expression and he quickly finished his thought. “Tomorrow morning Sam is taking them out to Rainbow Island.”
“Rainbow Island?”
“Mr. Siderius requested that we refer to the island by some name other than Dead Man’s Island. Sam came up with Rainbow Island.” The dock master had also come up with a few other less appropriate names as well, like Fruitcake Island and Feel the Vibe Island. Matt decided to go with Rainbow Island.
“It seems strange that they want to get back to their sessions so soon after Gilbert’s death,” Sabrina mused.
“Well, they only have until Saturday to finish whatever they hoped to accomplish.”
“Yes,” Sabrina said thoughtfully, “but what exactly did they hope to accomplish?”
Matt waved as Sabrina went off, and then looked back down at his scrawled figures. No matter how he juggled the numbers, they still came up short.
It was time for desperate measures.
***
Sabrina made her way down one of the shell-encrusted walkways, stopping to marvel at the intricacy of the inlaid shells. So many thousands of shells, placed precisely into the concrete. It must have taken years to finish. What did Matt say? A labor of love. Sabrina could imagine Matt’s great-grandmother, young and pretty in a flapper dress, on her hands and knees with a trowel, placing the shells in the precise pattern she wanted.
She thought about Sergeant Jimmy’s evasive answer when she asked him about the weapon used to kill Gilbert Kane. It was missing, he said. Yes, but what was it? she persisted. Did the police know what type of murder weapon they were looking for? Jimmy looked uncomfortable as he admitted that they weren’t sure yet what could cause that kind of trauma to the human ear.
Not a knife, Sabrina concluded. Surely the police would have known by now if it were a knife. So what kind of weapon could have inflicted the kind of brutal damage that Matt described?
The beach came into sight through the thick trees. A cozy cove cuddled a narrow strip of white sand and a small marina holding several boats. Sabrina could see two miniature sailboats—they couldn’t be much bigger than bathtubs—struggling to tack in the still afternoon air. The sun was growing larger and redder as it sank toward the horizon, and long shadows brushed coldly across Sabrina’s face as she hurried down the path.
“You must be Comico Island’s illustrious ombudsman!” A man’s voice said as she neared the dock.
“Please?” She looked around but saw no man to go with the voice.
“Sabrina Dunsweeney, if I’m not mistaken,” the disembodied voice continued. “Blond and disheveled and wearing something pink, or purple, or possibly yellow. The sergeant couldn’t remember what you were wearing, just that it was blinding and neon.”
“Please!” Sabrina huffed in indignation, unsure of which slight to address first. It was disconcerting to speak to empty air. Even as she moved along the dock she did not encounter the impertinent speaker, though a pelican was watching her appraisingly. Surely not…“I’m not disheveled, and my clothes are—”
The pelican lifted its long beak and fluffed its pouch, making a gargling sound that sounded disturbingly like a laugh. Sabrina glared at the bird.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, you—”
“I wasn’t laughing.” A man stepped out from under the dock and looked up at Sabrina. “Who’s laughing?”
Sabrina looked from the chortling pelican to the man and forgot her ire. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Please, sit down—” Sabrina ran along the dock and down the short flight of stairs to the beach. The man was staring at her dumbfounded as she flew up to him and began patting his arms and chest.
“Where are you hit? Smile, raise your arms and speak a simple sentence. Oh no, that’s for a stroke. Drat. Well, are you feeling lightheaded, are you having trouble breathing, are you—”
“What—”
“Sit down, please sit down.” Sabrina forced the man down onto a nearby cooler as she continued her inspection. No weapons that she could see or feel, that was reassuring.
“What are you going on about?” The words were said with some vigor, enough to make Sabrina pause and look down at the man’s face. He was compact and sinewy, with thinning hair bleached colorless by many years of sun. Thick creases encased his bloodshot pale blue eyes, and golden stubble covered his sun-darkened face. He wore cut-off khaki shorts and dock shoes, as well as a white tee-shirt. This was the de rigueur island wear, except for the fact that—
“You’ve got blood all over you.” Sabrina kept her voice calm. People in shock oftentimes did not realize the extent of their injuries. Perhaps the man didn’t even know he was badly injured.
“It’s not mine.”
“Please?”
“I said, it’s not mine. But thank you for your concern.” The man removed Sabrina’s restraining hands and rose to his feet. He offered his hand, but retracted it with a grimace when he noticed the blood on it.
“I’m Sam Myers. I run the Shell Lodge marina, such as it is.” He gestured to the dock, encompassing with a short wave the fuel pump, the ramshackle shed, a compact sailboat, and several other boats painted with the Shell Lodge logo. “That sailboat at the end is my current abode, so you could say this dock is my whole universe.”
Sabrina surveyed him, but he seemed lucid and unhurt. Perhaps he was not injured after all, though she would be vigilant in case he stumbled or fainted.
“You said the blood wasn’t yours?” Sabrina ended the statement with a delicate question.
“Nope.”
“Where did it come from, then?” She was beginning to feel some trepidation.
/>
“Did you know that crows are the most creative birds in the world?” Sam pulled a knife from a scabbard at his side and began testing its edge for sharpness. Sabrina took an instinctive step back. “Some say they may be even more intelligent than chimpanzees when it comes to tool making. They probe logs for grubs with twigs and they’ve been spotted placing nuts they want cracked beneath the tires of cars stopped at red lights. It’s very unusual for animals to make tools, and crows seem to be among the most skilled.”
Sabrina looked around, but there were no crows in sight. “That’s very interesting, I’m sure. Perhaps you didn’t hear me when I asked where the blood came from.” She was backing away now, her hand slipping inside her purse, though there was nothing more lethal in there than a Twinkie. Perhaps she could throw it at him as she ran away. Nobody could resist a Twinkie.
“My point was, they are intelligent creatures, wouldn’t you agree?”
“It certainly sounds like it, though I’d never noticed it. In Cincinnati they were quite annoying, always cawing and strewing trash on my lawn.”
Sam looked up from his knife and grinned, his small, pointed teeth very white in his tanned face. “Ah, Sabrina, but don’t you think I, as unprepossessing as I may seem, am as intelligent as a loud, obnoxious crow?”
“Well…”
“And don’t you think,” Sam was quick to interrupt, “I would be smart enough to not be caught covered with blood if I just killed someone? I’m assuming you think I am a homicidal maniac who finished off the fat tourist last night and moved on to another one for lunch.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
Sam shrugged. “I didn’t know the man. What little I knew I didn’t like. He talked to me like I was an idiot, and he kicked my cat. So, no, I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“So, so, rude.”
“Ah, but some people, my dear Sabrina, find me charming.”
“Well, I don’t!”
Sam grinned, not at all concerned. “Would you like to see my abattoir?”
“I don’t think—” But curiosity won out, and as Sam disappeared behind a rickety shed, Sabrina followed to find a rough table and sink behind it, right at the edge of the water. “I still would like to know—” she began, but stopped in shock at the blood-soaked sight that confronted her.
Blood, lots of it. Unidentifiable body parts. An overflowing bucket of bloody gore. A full meat grinder.
It looked as if a massacre had taken place.
Chapter Thirteen
A few curious pelicans were sneaking in close to the gruesome table, and Sam picked up a hose. With aggrieved squawks, they waddled a few feet away before he could even turn it on.
“I’m making chum. See?” Sam offered her the bowl from the grinder with cheerful enthusiasm.
“I can see quite well from here.” Sabrina kept her distance, as the fishy smell was overwhelming. Her stomach—strong by anyone’s measure—grew queasy a bit at the sight. “I’ve heard of it, but never…” She gestured at the bloody mess in mute dismay.
“I’ll make up buckets of this and freeze it. When I take the next bunch of people out fishing, I’ll bring along a bucket and hang it off the stern of the boat. It’ll bring the fish, the tourists will catch their limit, I’ll look good, and everyone is happy.” Sam dumped the contents of the bowl in the bucket, indifferent to the gory splash.
“It seems cruel, grinding up those poor little fish so somebody can catch a bigger fish. I think it’s horrible.”
“Even the smallest creature has a purpose.”
“Are you going to get all enigmatic again?”
“If you knew me well enough, you’d know I always have a point.” Sam stuffed several fish parts into the meat grinder and began grinding. “These fish were caught yesterday, and were the special last night at the Shell Lodge restaurant. Today, I’m grinding up the rest of them to use as chum. Very little of these fish went to waste.”
Sabrina was quiet a moment, watching Sam’s powerful muscles flex as he applied force to the grinder’s handle and trying to ignore the unpleasant squishing and cracking noises. “I’m sorry. I jumped to an inaccurate conclusion.” The admission was grudging but sincere.
Sam tossed her a breezy smile. “It’s not the first time someone has jumped to the wrong conclusion about me. I work hard at giving the wrong impression. So, what am I supposed to confess to you? The sergeant—he’s a big fellow, isn’t he?—said you would be coming around asking questions.”
“And did he tell you not to speak with me?”
“Oh, no. He said it didn’t matter whether I wanted to talk to you or not, that you would have the truth out of me in seconds flat. He seemed to have a lot of confidence in your powers of persuasion. As someone who has great respect for the inevitable, I’m ready to be interrogated.” Sam raised his hands in mock surrender and peeked around his fingers at her. “Be gentle, please.”
“Give me a break.” Sabrina couldn’t remember ever being vexed by anyone quite so much. Every time she started to warm to him, he said something outrageous. In fact, he seemed to take positive enjoyment in being obnoxious. “Would you please just tell me about Gilbert Kane?”
“That’s a relief. I was afraid you were going to grill me until I confessed that I cheated on a math test in the fourth grade and killed a man last year. That would have been a lot more painful. Gilbert Kane, now that’s easy, since there’s so little to tell. Matt told me to take him over to the island yesterday afternoon. Kane showed up and we took the Mako over to Goat Island. When we got there he told me he would call me when he was ready to be picked up. I gave him my cell phone number and he checked his phone to make sure he had service. He did. I got back here and had to run around looking for a missing kayak. I still hadn’t found it when the fat—Gilbert Kane called me and told me to not bother picking him up.”
“What were his exact words?”
Sam paused, thinking back. “I’ve thought about it. I’m not sure what he said exactly, but my assumption was that someone else had come by to pick him up. I couldn’t fathom who it might be, since all the boats here, except for the one-seater kayak, were accounted for, but I didn’t think it was any of my business.”
Questions swirled through Sabrina’s mind, but she wasn’t sure where to start. “Gilbert didn’t sound strange when he called? Like maybe he was being coerced?” Another thought popped into her mind. “Or perhaps it was someone else who called and pretended to be Gilbert?”
Sam dropped another fish into the grinder and began to turn the handle. “That’s like asking someone what color the grass was yesterday. You just assume it was green. He said he was Gilbert Kane, so I assumed it was. The reception wasn’t stellar and I was busy looking for the missing kayak. I wasn’t paying close attention. It could have been Bette Midler for all I know. But my impression at the time was that it was him, and that he sounded…” He paused, staring into the bloody bowl before him.
“He sounded what?”
“I don’t know. I guess he did sound different. Too friendly, or calmer, or something. Different. I’m not sure how.” He frowned, and Sabrina’s heart warmed to him. He was trying to help.
“It could have been someone else impersonating Gilbert, or even Gilbert himself, under coercion. That would account for the different tenor of his voice.”
“Or it was Gilbert, and I just don’t give a flying squirrel one way or the other.” Sam looked up and smiled as Sabrina considered strangling him.
“But…there’s a chance it wasn’t him.”
“And an equal chance it was him.”
“But he could have been coerced.”
“Or maybe he found his vibe on the island and everything was so copacetic he found himself in a good mood. He might not have known what one was.”
Sabrina wondered if pounding her head against the nearby dock post would make her obviously eligible for th
e rubber room. Perhaps if she pounded Sam’s head against the post…Anyone who knew him would understand, and she suspected it would release the same frustrated energy as pounding her own head. A lot less painful as well. For her, anyway.
“Let’s move on. Gilbert was carrying a duffel bag, wasn’t he? Did you happen to see what was in it?”
“You mean like if he dumped everything out looking for his camera, I might have caught a glimpse of what was inside?”
“Yes!” She quivered with excitement. “What was inside?”
“I don’t know. He never dumped it out. Too bad, huh? That would have been convenient. Actually, what he did was unzip it enough to reach inside and grab his camera and then he zipped it up so fast he caught his hand in the zipper. Shrieked pretty good.”
“Gilbert shrieked?”
“Well, his hand was bleeding. Anyone would shriek.”
“But you didn’t see what else he had in the bag?”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Sam turned innocent eyes on Sabrina, widening them as if he was worried about her mental stability, or at the very least, her hearing.
Sabrina took a deep breath. “You have no idea what was in the bag.”
“Nope.”
Sabrina started her Lamaze breathing. She had never been pregnant, but she’d once attended a Lamaze class for fun. She found the breathing routine very soothing. Sam watched with interest as she huffed and panted herself into calmness.
“You said you were looking for a missing kayak. What can you tell me about that?” she asked when she felt better.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “It was missing. I went looking for it.”
“Yes, but when did it go missing?” She knew the police must have asked similar questions, so Sam’s show of blithe ignorance was unconvincing. And irritating.
“While I took the fat man over to the island. When I got back, I noticed someone had taken the blue kayak without signing it out.”
“Signing it out?”
Island Blues Page 7