Really, Truly Dead
Maggie Toussaint
A Lindsey & Ike Mystery
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Cover design by Boulevard Photografica
Copyright © 2016 by Maggie Toussaint
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9967706-3-7
All rights reserved.
First Edition: Feb 2016, Happy Homicides 2 Anthology
Author’s Edition: Feb 2017
Published in 2017 by Muddle House Publishing
Muddle House Publishing
1146 Tolomato Drive SE
Darien, GA 31305
Acknowledgements
This story has been a long time coming. It was the first mystery I tried after deciding I wanted to branch out from romantic suspense. The original full-length story got several makeovers before I shelved it. Years went by, and I responded to a call for a romantic mystery for a novella anthology. Since this story was a romantic mystery, I decided to just lop off 50,000 words, thinking that would be easy. Ha ha on me! It wasn’t easy, but I’m very pleased with the result. I’m also thankful to Joanna Campbell Slan and Linda Hengerer for including the Lindsey & Ike Romantic Mystery Novella Series in three successive editions of their Happy Homicides anthology series.
No book is written in a vacuum, and this one took a lot of handholding. An especially big thank you goes to Kathleen Russell, the editor of The Darien News. She walked me through all phases of putting a newspaper together and later gave me the opportunity to write feature articles for the paper. Atwood the News Hound and Bailey in this story have a lot in common, so thank you, Atwood for being a stellar role model.
Thanks also to the U.S. Coast Guard Station in Brunswick for their time and expertise in explaining how they search and rescue people lost at sea. Georg Trexler of the McIntosh County Sheriff Office helped with some general police details. Beta readers Terry Odell and Nancy J Cohen gave me the fresh eyes I needed for a final read. Any errors in this series are mine and mine alone.
Chapter 1
The two a.m. call from my aunt got my blood pumping. Daddy’s drinking had the family newspaper on the rocks, and now he’d totaled his car. By the time I emailed my boss to let him know I was going home, packed, and hit the road, it was nearly three. The miles between Atlanta and Danville rolled by with me alternating between being thankful Daddy survived and being worried about his mental health.
My first stop in town was the Morrison County Sheriff’s Office. My family was a tad off-beat, but we were law-abiding citizens. Until now. I’d never been inside the jailhouse before. For courage, I clipped the leash on my black lab so she could accompany me.
An attractive blonde deputy rose from the reception desk when we entered. Her crisp uniform and bright smile contrasted with the worn-out lobby. “We don’t allow dogs in here,” she said. “Hey, I know you. You’re Lindsey McKay.”
I smiled, aware my carrot top had given me away. “Guilty as charged.” I squinted discreetly at the shiny name plate on her pocket flap and startled at the familiar name. Sister or wife, I wondered. “Sorry, Deputy Harper. I drove through the night, and I wasn’t thinking. Excuse me, while I return Bailey to my car.”
“Never mind. It won’t take two shakes to out-process your Dad. Bailey can stay.” The woman smiled. “I’m Alice Ann Harper. You were in my brother’s class.”
My jaw dropped. Ike’s sister had grown into a beauty. “I didn’t know you were a cop.”
Alice Ann reached under the counter and withdrew papers and a brown paper bag with Daddy’s name on it. “The employment opportunities are somewhat limited in Danville.”
I nodded. An office door banged open, and a brawny male in a close-fitting white polo shirt navy slacks, and a holstered gun swaggered my way. Age had been kind to Ike Harper. He’d filled out through the shoulders and chest, but his waist was as trim as ever.
“How’ve you been, hon?” Sheriff Ike Harper crushed me in arms of steel.
Masculine warmth made my cheeks burn. Uh-oh. He still had it, and I didn’t want it.
“I’m good. Nice to see you, Ike.” I gently pushed against his chest until he released me. “I’m here for my dad. What can you tell me about his wreck?”
Ike squatted and gave my dog the same effusive welcome I’d received. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“Mr. McKay clipped an oak and rolled his car on Oldham Road at one a.m.,” Ike said.
How odd. “What was he doing out so late?”
“He kept muttering about a deer in the road. EMTs checked him out, and he refused transport. My guys brought him here. He has a court appearance for the DUI and a fine. Shouldn’t be too bad for his first offense.”
My thoughts whirled at the news. “This feels . . . surreal. I mean I knew his drinking increased over the years, but he always drank at home. I’m stunned. Thank you for getting him checked out. That’s one thing off my mind.”
“He’ll come him around now that you’re here. On another note, want to get a cup of coffee while you’re home? We missed you at the ten-year class reunion last month.”
With those lady killer eyelashes and luminous brown eyes, Ike had been a player in high school. That wasn’t for me. “I had a conflict with reunion weekend, and no thanks on the coffee. Between tending to Daddy and salvaging the newspaper, my time won’t be my own.”
Alice Ann slid papers my way. “Sign these forms.”
Ike leaned against the counter as I signed. “You still working for that science magazine in Atlanta?”
“Yes. The Georgia Journal of Science. I like it there.”
“They’re lucky to have you. If you need anything while you’re home, just ask. I’m swamped today coordinating the search teams looking for Judge Sterling, but I should be free soon.”
“The judge is missing?”
“His wife reported his disappearance at dawn.” Ike waved and headed to his office. “Good to see you, Linds.”
I collected the bag of Daddy’s things and trailed Alice Ann down a long corridor, Bailey padding silently beside me.
My plan was to be stern, but I caved when I saw my father behind bars. In the seven hours since his accident, the cuts on his face and arms had scabbed over. Both eyes were blackened. Alcohol fumes permeated the air. “Daddy?”
He perched on the narrow bottom bunk. “Lindsey? That you?”
Alice Ann waved me inside the unlocked cell. “Take your time.”
Bailey trotted in and licked my father’s toes. “Who’s this fine retriever?” my father asked, as he patted my dog.
“That’s Bailey. I told you I’d rescued her from the shelter when we talked in March. On your birthday.” I knelt and pulled his shoes from the brown bag. He’d lost more weight since I’d seen him at Christmas. With Mama overseas, was he even eating regularly? My heart sunk. Why didn’t Aunt Fay call me earlier?
“Where’s your brother?” he asked.
The question caught me off-guard. “Colin’s dead, Daddy.”
His brow furrowed, and then he nodded. “Forgot.”
Oh, dear. My father was worse off than I thought. I helped him with his shoes. “How do you feel?”
“Sore. And hungover.” He met my gaze. “You going to yell at me?”
“You’re making bad choices. That wreck. You could’ve died. We’ll discuss this later, when you h
ave a clear head. Let’s get you home. Can you stand?”
Together we walked down the corridor. Why was he thinking about Colin now? After my brother was lost at sea ten years ago, my family fractured. At least I’d gotten counseling in college and started over. For years, my father had refused to talk about Colin.
A young boy burst in the sheriff’s lobby. He looked to be about eight and he had Ike’s eyes and hair.
“Dad, hurry,” the boy shouted. “There’s something dead under the bridge. Can I have it?”
The blood drained from my face. I froze in mid-step. What father allowed his kid to collect dead animals?
Ike ruffled the boy’s hair. “Easy, Trent. You’ve shocked Miss McKay. She doesn’t know the animal refuge needs road kill for their injured hawks.”
My heart started beating again. “Thanks for the explanation.”
Trent tugged on Ike’s arm. “Come on. Someone else might get it. I wanna feed the hawks.”
Reassured all was well, I waved goodbye, loaded my father in my car, and headed home.
We took Dock Road to River Road, passing the bronze historical marker outside St. Paul’s. My crazy ancestor, Beulah Lindsey McKay, had saved the church from fire-wielding Yankees over a hundred and fifty years ago. Other towns had bats in the belfry. We had Beulah in the bell tower.
“What’s going on with the newspaper?” I’d helped with the family paper in high school so I knew the routine. This was Tuesday. The Gazette should be already made up. If not, I’d need a miracle to launch this week’s edition by tomorrow.
He hung his head. A lot of gray silvered his hair. Seemed like he’d aged twenty years in the nine months since I’d last seen him.
“A fellow writes a few editorials, and everyone’s a critic,” Daddy said. “Cut me some slack here. I’ve got one heckuva hangover.”
I made a mental note to read those columns as I parked in front of our two-story Victorian home. “That reporter still with you?”
“Robert quit months ago.”
Swallowing a bitter retort, I helped my father up the porch steps. I should’ve been reading the online edition to follow the news from home, but I stayed so busy, I’d deleted the latest links unread.
White paint curls furred the plank siding and the gingerbread trim. “The house needs work.”
“So it does.” Dad grunted and continued to his bed, nudging his shoes off with his toes. “Ellen’s at the paper.”
My dad’s assistant had been two years ahead of me in school. According to Aunt Fay’s emails, Ellen’s divorce had been finalized six months ago.
“I’ll check in with her next. Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”
I lugged my suitcase in and then drove up River Road to the brick newspaper building. The shoulder of the road by the Gazette was jammed with cars. What now?
Bailey and I hurried into the Gazette. “Ellen?” My voice echoed through the building. How odd. Maybe Ellen was out back. With growing unease, I clipped on Bailey’s leash and trotted out the side door to the waterfront. A murmur from the crowd reached me just before the Danville River Bridge. A pungent odor brought tears to my eyes, and a dark stain marred the embankment. Summer flies buzzed.
I threaded my way through the throng, my dog at my side until Ellen Mattingly snagged my arm. Despite the August heat, my father’s assistant looked cucumber-cool in her khaki pants and white blouse. Long hair hung down her back.
“Lindsey,” Ellen said. “Hold up. This is a crime scene.”
“Hey. Good to see you.” I hugged her. “What’s the story here?”
Moisture brimmed in her blue eyes. “Judge Alan Sterling is dead.”
News reporting ran in my veins, but I wasn’t prepared for this. “Oh, no. What happened?”
“Leroy Brown over at the shrimp docks saw him before all the cops arrived.” Tears rolled down her face. “Judge Sterling was stabbed to death.”
My thoughts hit turbocharge. The judge was dead. Really, truly dead. Stabbed. Not an accident.
I patted Ellen’s back. “It’s going to be all right.”
My gaze traveled to the concrete pillars supporting the Danville Bridge. Overhead traffic thumped by in a blur. I understood their haste. Ten years ago I felt the same need to hurry out of town.
Bailey tugged the leash out of my palm and bolted inside the forbidden zone. My stomach knotted as she headed straight for the dead man.
Chapter 2
Judge Sterling. I knew him, his wife, his kids. His son, Alan Jr., had been in my grade. Thoughts whirling, I chased my dog.
I stumbled to a halt near Bailey and tried not to inhale. If I didn’t look down, I could pretend I wasn’t standing over a corpse.
“Your dog.” Sheriff Ike Harper had a tight grip on Bailey’s leash.
“Sorry about that. She jerked the leash out of my hand.”
The sheriff’s glittering gaze pinned me like a laser. “I can’t have animals running loose in my crime scene.”
Judge Sterling could’ve been sleeping if not for the darkly stained grass. He wore black wingtips and a conservative dark suit, though his white dress shirt was crimson. A knife handle protruded from his belly.
“Sorry.” Bile rose in my throat, and I closed my eyes and willed my nausea to pass. Where were my journalistic instincts? I summoned a question from the goo of my mind. “How long has he been dead?”
“Don’t know yet. We’re still securing the scene.”
“What did you find so far?”
“His watch is missing.” The sheriff waved his deputies farther out with the crime scene tape.
“This was a robbery?”
The sheriff handed me Bailey’s leash. “I don’t know yet.” He swore under his breath. “There goes your dog again. Get her out of here.”
A river of sweat coursed down my back as I chased Bailey. She darted here and there, nose to the ground, just out of reach. I accidentally saw the judge’s fly-covered face and lost my fast-food breakfast.
Bailey stopped twenty feet from the body and barked. I wiped my mouth, hurried over to her, and wrapped the leash twice around my hand. On the ground was a photograph of a flower.
A vivid pink rose. Maybe even Inverness Pink, named after our local river, a variety of rose the judge had developed. Sheriff Harper appeared at my shoulder. “Don’t touch that.” He waved Alice Ann over to bag the photo.
Ike marched us to the newly erected tape barrier. “Keep Bailey under control. If you mention the photo to anyone, I’ll impound your dog.”
Mortified, I scurried through the crowd, up the riverbank, and into the newspaper office. I took a few minutes in the bathroom to freshen up. Ellen waylaid me afterward. “You saw Judge Sterling?”
“I did, but I forgot to be a reporter.”
“I snapped a few pictures, but I’m not sure they’re relevant,” Ellen admitted. “You’re here to run the paper?”
I nodded. “Temporarily. What’s the deal?”
Ellen composed herself as we strolled to the breakroom. “We’ve lost some big accounts. It’s been rough.”
I grabbed two Cokes from the fridge. “Make a list of the accounts. I’ll call them before I leave town.”
Ellen opened her drink. “You always could talk the hide off an alligator.”
“I wish it were that easy.” I sipped my Coke greedily. “What about the articles? Who writes them?”
“Mostly me. George has good intentions, but . . .”
No wonder Aunt Fay was worried. “How long has this been going on?”
Ellen frowned. “Pretty much all year.”
My emotions seesawed into the anger realm again. “I’m surprised. Everything was fine at Christmas.”
Ellen sighed. “We were making it work, until the advertisers pulled out.”
“Thanks for all you’ve done to keep it going. Is this week’s edition ready to go to press?”
“No. We run a few days behind now. Can’t catch up, but this week’s stories are
written. You want to see them?”
You couldn’t run a successful paper if you couldn’t deliver the news on schedule. “Yes. And arrange for someone to watch your kids tonight. We’re working late.”
~*~
At eight that night, I drove home with a stiff neck and the dream of crawling into bed. I had done what I could, reworking all the stories for this edition, calling folks for quotes, and writing a feature on the alleged murder of Judge Sterling. Ellen’s crowd pictures were great. I used a large color photo of shocked faces above the fold on page one.
“Everything under control?” Daddy asked from the porch.
I nodded, yawning. I could sleep for the next seven years. “Why didn’t you join us?”
Daddy exhaled slowly. “Couldn’t do it.”
“Why? Don’t you care about the paper anymore?”
“I’ve been going through the motions for a long time, and I didn’t want you to know. With your mother. With the newspaper. I started changing after Colin went missing.”
His melancholy mindset surprised me. “Colin drowned, Daddy.” Ice tinkled as he raised an amber-filled glass to his lips. Anger flashed like heat lightning through my tongue. “Will drinking solve anything?”
Daddy studied his empty glass. Minutes ticked off my life clock. “I’m trying to forget my failures.”
“It isn’t working. Why were you drinking and driving the other night?”
“I had an errand to run.” Daddy stared into his glass. “Thought I could handle it.”
“What if you’d hit someone? What if you killed someone?”
He lifted his gaze to the distant river. “You’re making too much of this.”
“You’re making too little of this. Have you talked to anyone about your problem?”
He didn’t answer. Heat flamed my face. Didn’t he care about anything besides his next drink? Disgusted, I headed for my room. I couldn’t stay in Danville for long, but how could I leave when my father was a mess?
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