“Well,” I said, “the killer used Ryan’s car to take the body back to the shop from Jill’s—”
“Wait. From Jill’s?”
“Yeah. Her driveway was all gravel and sand—nothing that big. But there is a stone walkway leading to the porch. All were around that big.”
“How’d I miss that?” Felicia said, almost to herself. “So, he took Ryan’s car back to Niilhaasi. Then he used that app, HytchHiker, to go back across the bay, and pick up his own car.”
“Did you ever talk to that driver, Neil?”
“We did. But he gave a pretty nondescript description if you know what I mean. White male, average height, average build, all that. Dark hair, but Neil said he wasn’t really paying attention, and it was pitch black that night. So the guy could be blonde for all we know.”
“Maybe the killer drove back over the bay,” I offered. “Unless, of course, he lives on the island.”
Felicia pursed her lips. “It’s a thought… It definitely wouldn’t hurt to check those toll logs.”
I’d already told her about what Corey had said. But she was at a loss as to who Jill’s mystery ex-boyfriend was as well.
“I guess I’ll get going,” I told her.
She nodded and gave me a tightlipped smile. “Seriously, I better see you tomorrow morning. Exercise is good for the body and mind.”
“And maybe you’ll know more about that thumbprint?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I probably should stop talking to you about the case.”
“Tomorrow then.” I hoped it was only a threat. My drive to solve this case was equal to hers.
“Tomorrow.” She grinned back at me. “It’s only a—”
I shut the car door before she could complete the singsong lyric. The diesel engine puffed out a cloud of black smoke, and Felicia waved the exhaust away, sticking out her tongue at me.
It really was beginning to feel a lot like high school.
Sarah was just flipping the placard on the door to closed when Gambit and I returned. The dog padded inside like he owned the place which I guess he sort of did, in a way. After all the excitement of the afternoon, he snuggled under the blanket in his dog bed for a well-deserved nap.
I lingered beside the door while Sarah returned to the counter, picked up her purse, and a stack of new comics—Ryan’s lasting effect on her.
“I’m so sorry,” I said guiltily.
“Sorry? What for?”
“For leaving you in the lurch… again.”
“It’s not a problem,” she said. “It’s not like I have much of a life outside of here anyway.”
“Wait. What?” Her words didn’t compute. “That’s not true. Don’t you go to the beach every morning? Isn’t that where your crowd hangs out?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I mean folks my age do. But I don’t have a crowd. I just sit in the sand and read. These are my company.” She lifted up the thinly packaged books.
“You’re not afraid of ruining them?”
The first time was an eyeroll. This time she was able to see to the back of her head. “Do you know how many comics they print these days?” She could see by my face I didn’t. “A lot. Unless it’s a variant cover, ya know limited printing, drawn by another artist, then it’s probably not going to be worth much in the future. I’m actually doing what nature intended. Reading.”
“Okay. Well, enjoy your reading. And, as promised, Friday’s the big day. Huge pay increase. Not really. But decent pay increase.”
“Looking forward to it.” She blew past me, setting the bell on the door to a jingle before I muffled it and locked up.
For the first time in what seemed too long, I was ready for a cozy night alone—well, alone-ish. Gambit scampered up the stairs. Walking up them just wasn’t his style, he had to build up to a full sprint, ascending them like he was about to take flight.
“With those floppy ears, you just might,” I told him.
He shook them along with the collar in reply.
The studio had just enough space and furniture to be deemed livable. A bed, a TV, and a dresser. The couch was new, hardly used. Besides, it was more comfortable to watch TV from the bed. We settled in for a Castle marathon. And I reluctantly set my alarm to make it to CrossFit the next morning.
I’m doing this for the information on the case, I told myself.
“And the exercise,” Felicia’s voice popped into my head.
Right. And that.
But maybe that wasn’t even true either. What was it with this town and old high school flames and crushes? Or does everyone get hung up on the past?
I closed my eyes, my mind still whirring, wondering if I could turn back the sands of time, would it matter? Would Felicia have ended up with me? Or was this our fate all along?
18
The alarm hit me like a ton of bricks the next morning—and I’m not using a metaphor. I yanked the phone from its charger and held it over my face. But like the goof I am, it slipped through my fingers and fell the three or four inches, hitting me squarely in the bridge of my nose.
This is my life, I thought. I wasn’t meant for grander things. That dream of Felicia in a white dress was a trick of my subconscious. Though it was me who played the trick, thinking those not-so-subtle thoughts before bed.
I kicked off the sheets and got out of bed, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. I timed it just so I’d get to Richards’ Heavy Lifting and Storage at the start of the class, not a second to spare—even for injuries such as this one.
“Are you coming with?” I asked Gambit. The dachshund was under the sheets somewhere. A soft snore gave me his answer.
I rushed down the stairs and out. Even in the predawn, the air was muggy and hot. I arrived at the storage unit in the nick of time—or what I thought was the nick of time.
“If you’re on time, you’re late.” Rob sounded just like an Air Force drill instructor. Looking at him, I guessed he’d probably served as well. Army or Marines. He marked a star beside my name on the whiteboard. I had no clue what that meant, so I started the warmup.
Felicia was well into warming up, her brow already glistening with sweat. She gave me a slight smile. “Glad you could make it.”
“Body and mind,” I reminded Felicia of her own words.
She proceeded to blow through the workout as if it was nothing. She lifted more weight than I could, ran faster, and she could actually do a pull-up—while I struggled, using some sort of rubber band to assist me. With one foot slipped inside the band, I dangled from the bar, barely able to propel my chin all the way up.
At the end of it, I was winded. Sweat pooled on my chest. I lay in a heap on the floor making a sweat angel. Felicia hovered over me. She took a swig of bottled water and said, “You know you’re not finished, right?”
“Oh, no. I’m definitely finished.”
She smiled mischievously, then pointed at the star beside my name. “You were late.”
“Okay…” At this moment in time, all I wanted to do was stare at the storage unit’s ceiling.
“It means you have to do twenty burpees,” she said slowly.
“Twenty what?”
“Burpees,” she answered.
I sat up, and Felicia demonstrated. It was like a pushup on steroids. She lowered herself to the ground in one movement, pushed up, and jumped at the end, clapping her hands over her head.
“Twenty of those?”
She nodded.
What had I gotten myself into?
When the agony of the burpees was over, I was eager to speak to Felicia about the case. She was already to her car by the time I caught up, holding the stitch at my side.
“Hey!” I called to her. “Did you find anything else out? Fingerprints? A car driving back over the bridge? Anything?”
She eyed me wearily, already exhausted by my questions. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
“Not until it’s over.”
“We did find something
. I’ll stop by later, all right?”
“There’s a mocha on the house waiting for you.”
She smiled and got in her car.
I waited for what seemed like forever for Felicia to show. What exactly did later mean? It could’ve meant ten minutes, an hour—just enough to shower and get ready for work. Or it could be that afternoon…
It was beginning to look like the latter. The store regulars trickled in, and even a couple of irregulars.
Tim Grayson trudged into the shop with Damian in tow. The two were an odd pair, a middle aged man and teenager. Then I realized something. They sort of shared some distinguishing features—bushy eyebrows, wide foreheads, a crook in their noses.
Damian was obviously Tim’s son. How I did I not see that before?
“Hey, guys. How goes it?” The two were given a genuine Kirby smile, even if Damian’s high school angst attitude didn’t necessarily deserve it.
“Good morning,” Damian said stiffly.
“Good morning.” Tim gave his son a look. “We thought we’d come by and show our support now that your name is truly in the clear. I heard they found a new clue yesterday—and it was all down to you.”
“No, it was down to Gambit.” I gestured to the sleeping dog.
“What about our names, Dad?” Damian said under his breath and just loud enough for the whole coffee shop to hear. “He tried to throw us under the bus.”
“Now, now. Kirby was just answering the detectives questions. The same as us. Kids…” Tim smiled. “I’d like one of those caramel drinks. And Damian, what would you like?”
“It’s called a caramel macchiato. And I just want regular coffee—with room.”
“You got it,” I told them.
It took only a few minutes to whip up Tim’s drink. Damian doctored his regular coffee up with sugar packets and half and half until the coffee’s coloring was the same as Tim’s caramel drizzle.
“Tim,” I called, setting down the drink. But I didn’t let him leave with it, not yet. “Hey,” I said, “I know it might be short notice. But what would you guys think of an impromptu game of D&D this Friday night. Ya know, kind of something in Ryan’s honor.”
“Oh, there’s no such thing as an impromptu campaign.”
“Sorry. I just meant we could use my old starter book. I think there’re some campaigns in there we could try.”
“Dad’s got a few of his own making,” Damian chimed in. “I mean, if you don’t mind him being dungeon master.”
“I’d love that. So, does Friday around 9:00 work? I’ll see if Marc can make it.”
They nodded, grinning. “Sure does. See ya then.”
And for half a second my heart felt full and relaxed. I felt good. But only for half a second.
“So, there goes any Friday plans.” The voice was a familiar one but new enough for me to do a double take. Standing in line, Avett smiled at me like she’d caught me stealing mom’s cookies from the cookie jar. Her classic red lipstick was a stark contrast to her almost too white teeth.
This girl must not drink coffee.
“Yeah… It looks like I just booked Friday up.” I hadn’t really expected to see or hear from Avett again. I was confident I’d blown it trying to implicate her friend, Jill’s ex-husband Dr. Adams, in Ryan’s murder. Yet here she was. And despite my utter lack of suave, I had to at least try to ask her out.
“I am pretty free Saturday though,” I said, making my way over from the espresso machine to the cash register.
“Saturday… Hmm…” She feigned thought. “What about tonight?”
She was the type of forward a guy as shy as I am needs. “I could make that work,” I said confidently.
“Great. I’ll see you tonight then!” She turned to leave.
“You don’t want to order?” I called to her. “Plus, I don’t know where you live.”
“I’m not a big coffee drinker,” she confessed, turning at the door. “And I’ll just meet you here at closing, all right?”
I nodded. “See you then.”
19
The rest of the day passed with little else to offer. Felicia never showed. I figured, or hoped, it was because she was wrapped up catching the killer. I kept typing out a text for her but never hit send, figuring she would talk to me when she was ready to do so.
So, a little before 7:00 we swept the floors, wiped down counters and tabletops, and I let Sarah out the front before racing upstairs to shower and change. Two showers in one day wasn’t necessarily the best for the environment. But I stank of sweat and coffee grounds—I figured if she didn’t drink the coffee, then she probably didn’t like the smell either.
A light pair of khakis had to suffice, though I usually only wore them for work in the winter. I put on a button-down shirt and rolled the sleeves. Flip-flops, or slaps, as my dad called them, were the only other shoes I owned besides the tennis shoes I used for workouts. This mashup ensemble was what I deemed date apparel in the Florida summer.
Gambit lunged at the door when Avett arrived. I asked her if it was okay to go on a walk with him first. She agreed, and he did his best to impress her with the number of times he could raise his leg in a quarter-mile. I counted fifteen.
“So where were you thinking of taking me?” she asked. I locked the shop again, this time leaving Gambit inside to roam.
“Technically, didn’t you ask me out?”
“I don’t like technicalities. But no. You asked about Saturday. I just moved up the date.”
We both let go of the fact she originally insinuated about my Friday availability.
“Okay… What do you think about the Fish Camp? It’s Thursday, so there might be a crowd. What am I saying—it’s any day of the week, it’s definitely a packed house.”
She sheepishly bowed her head. “I’ve actually never been. I’ve never been too big on seafood. I mean, maybe I’ve added shrimp to a plate at Outback, but real freshly caught seafood isn’t something you find very often in Atlanta.”
“We’re nipping this thing in the bud,” I told her. “There’s no reason to live here if you don’t eat seafood. How has your Aunt Barb let you live here two months without taking you to the Fish Camp?”
She smiled, sheepish this time. “She got in a little kerfuffle with the manager a year or two ago. She’s sworn it off.”
“That sounds like a deathbed regret if I’ve ever heard one.” She snickered as I opened the Golf’s passenger side door for her.
The drive over was a pleasant one. We chitchatted about work and the weather—about how the sweltering Florida heat wreaked havoc on the glands and made most showers utterly moot.
I told her about how I was bound to always smell like coffee, no matter what scented soap I used.
She made a face.
“You really don’t like coffee, huh? How do you function? Let alone function as a nurse at the hospital.”
“You’re going to think it’s silly. But I drink a tea. It’s called Yerba Mate. I’ll be honest. It’s a bit of an acquired taste. It’s even more bitter than coffee and packs a lot less punch.”
“I think I’ve heard of it,” I said. “But we don’t carry it. White Tea’s the best I’ve got.”
“White Tea’s fine in a pinch. See, I’m kind of obsessed with my teeth. My mom says I should’ve been a dentist.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “but there’s a difference between my own teeth and those of others.”
“I understand completely. Unfortunately, I have the coffee drinker yellow tinge. But I do try to floss, um, weekly.”
She laughed. It wasn’t a joke.
“I thought you said this place was going to be crowded,” Avett said sarcastically. The Golf crunched over oyster shells as we circled the lot two times before finally creeping behind someone and stealing their spot.
After a “short” wait, we were seated on the patio close to where I’d eaten with Memaw the night before Ryan’s death. I remembered the loo
ks from Robin and her husband, Scott—both were still prime suspects in my mind. But I let those thoughts escape me as I explained the menu.
“Market price—it sounds expensive,” Avett said.
“Not really,” I pointed, “it’s written on that chalkboard over there. Plus, if I recall, I invited you out, so obviously I’m paying.”
“Obviously.” She smiled. “Do you bring all your dates here?”
“Yeah. All of them,” I said jokingly, implying I didn’t date very often—which was true. But I knew better than to tell her the dates I did have were here, and they were mostly with Memaw. On top of that, the old gal hardly ever let me pay.
I ordered amberjack, my go to when cobia’s not available. I talked Avett into grouper, a specialty in pecan flour and a honey Worcestershire sauce. It didn’t fail to impress. Avett was already talking about her next meal there even before we split a slice of Key lime pie.
“That seals it,” she said, flicking her napkin around her still perfectly red lips. “Best meal I’ve had in ages.”
“The most calories I’ve had in ages.” I struggled to get out of my seat, but that was soreness from the morning’s workout, which justified a few extra calories, but probably not the pie.
The thought of Felicia briefly popped into my mind. She had never stopped by. And I was sure if they had caught someone, the news would’ve trickled to me somehow.
“Do you want to walk it off? We can walk down the docks…”
“I’d love that,” I answered. Something inside me told me to grab her hand—it told me she wouldn’t protest. I did so. Then she made the effort to interlace her fingers with mine.
Who is this girl?
We walked hand in hand, listening to the soft slapping of water against the boats and the pilings. There was everything from fishing and shrimp boats to a yacht and a few dinghies, probably not worth the cost of the slips they were inside.
“That’s odd.” Avett brought me in closer. She pointed. “All the others say Florida. Look at this one… Phoenix,” she tested out the name. “From Mountain View, California.”
Marvels, Mochas, and Murder Page 9