Apparently pot roast is popular around here, Claire thought, as Scott expertly pulled into the last space available. They’d been talking and laughing the whole time they’d been in the car, and Scott’s new story about a confused family who got on the wrong ferry, thinking they were heading to Canada, had Claire in stitches as he told it, imitating their horrified reactions and explaining how the whole crew had to explain to them that they were in the wrong country. She was still giggling as she stepped out of the car and heard Scott lock the door behind her.
That was one of her favorite things about being with Scott. There were no awkward silences when they got together, and he always had an interesting tidbit or story about the area or his family or work. Claire loved his easy laugh that caused the crinkles around the side of his eyes to jump and dance. He was a great listener, too, and paid attention to her when she felt brave enough to talk about bits of her own life. She still felt self-conscious about talking about herself, but as time passed it was becoming easier.
As usual, Lucy was at the front counter of the café when they walked in, her gray, stick-straight hair swept back into a small ponytail at the base of her neck. Her pale eyes locked onto Claire and she raised a single eyebrow. “Glad to see you haven’t grown sick of us yet, Claire,” she said, not unkindly. Without waiting for a response she pulled two menus out of the nearby holder and marched off toward an empty table toward the back, with Scott and Claire following obediently behind her. Lucy kept talking. “Scott hasn’t chased you off either, I see? Good. He needs someone to keep him in line.”
“Hey, give a guy a break, Lucy,” Scott quipped with a grin. “I’m not that scary, but then I haven’t taken her out fishing yet.” He shot a glance at Claire. “We’ll see what she’s like with some wriggling salmon in her lap.”
Lucy glanced back and gave Claire an appraising look before nodding. “I bet she’ll surprise you. This one looks like a fighter. She might just out-fish you.”
“Hey! Right here,” Claire said in mock consternation and gestured at her own head. “Not deaf. Don’t I get a say on whether I out-fish Scott or not?” To be honest, she’d never been fishing in her life, but the thought of it intrigued her.
“For what it’s worth,” came another voice from right next to them. “I have to agree with Lucy. I think she’ll out-fish ya.”
Claire turned and smiled, seeing police officer Darryl Portman sitting at a booth. She hadn’t noticed him as they first walked in, but she was always happy to see her new friend. Even though he dealt with a lot of sad or dangerous situations in the area, his face was kind and concern was genuine. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Officer Portman. How are you today?”
“Doing okay, for once,” Darryl said, giving a half-hearted shrug. “You here for the pot roast?”
“Are you kidding?” Scott said, rubbing his stomach comically. “I’ve been craving it all weekend. Nothing’s better than Lucy’s pot roast.”
“No argument here,” Darryl said, picking up a bottle with brown liquid in it and shaking it onto his basket of french fries. Claire looked at it strangely for a moment, having never seen the habit before. He noticed her look and held the bottle up. “Malt vinegar. You haven’t lived until you’ve had some on your fries, but they have to be made right. None of that processed garbage.”
“Which you’re lucky to be having,” Lucy said, sniffing. “If you hadn’t gotten me that insurance paperwork, I’d have banned you from the diner.”
Darryl shifted uncomfortably, his dark brown eyes troubled. He didn’t have the most expressive face in the world, but it was clear what Lucy said had bothered him. “Sorry about that, Lucy. I…don’t have a good excuse for that.”
“Well, you did get it to me, and I was able to turn it in on time. You’re sitting here enjoying my cookin’, so all is forgiven,” Lucy said in a lighter tone. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Hopefully, I don’t have anyone rifling through my kitchen anytime soon, though. Now, let me get these two to their table and I’ll be back with a refill on your coffee.”
“How about we sit here with you?” Claire asked, looking at Scott and then officer Portman, who both seemed agreeable to the idea. Taking her coat off, she hung it on the hook at the end of the booth and slid across the seat opposite Darryl.
Lucy smiled and put the menus in front of them. “Anything to drink while I go get you silverware?”
“Water, please,” Claire said, as Scott just turned over his coffee cup and pointed at it. Lucy nodded before turning away, coming back a moment later with two sets of silverware, a water, and a coffee carafe which she used to top off Darryl’s cup and then poured a cup for Scott. “Do you want me to come back or are you both going to want the pot roast?”
Claire glanced at Darryl’s basket of fries before looking at the gray-haired owner of the Dogwood Café. “Pot roast, but I’d love a small side of fries.”
Darryl pushed his basket toward Claire and pointed at it. “Try it first, no sense in wasting food if you don’t like it, as my mama always said.”
Claire nodded and took a fry, quickly popping it into her mouth. It was good. She’d heard of people putting vinegar on their fries, but had never actually tried it herself. Finding she liked the taste, she nodded at Lucy and pointed at the fries while she chewed.
Lucy wrote something down on her pad and didn’t even bother to ask Scott, turning away instead. “I already know what you’re going to order, Scott,” she said as she strode away.
He laughed and shook his head. “I swear, if I ever miss my mother I just have to come here. Next thing she’ll be telling me to bundle up because it’s cold outside.”
“Where is your mother?” Claire asked, then instantly wished she hadn’t said anything. Maybe it was a sore subject, and the last thing she wanted to do was put her foot in it.
Thankfully, Scott didn’t look upset at all. “My parents still live in Portland and they’re welcome to it. I don’t mind visiting, but there are just too many people for me to consider moving there.” He smiled at her. “I’m a small town guy, I guess.”
“Small towns aren’t for everyone,” Darryl offered, taking another bite of his pot roast. “But I’m with Scott on this one. Big cities just make my eyeballs itch. Give me Brightwater Bay any day of the week.”
“Is that where Ellen ran off to?” Scott asked, and Claire’s eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t any secret that Darryl’s wife could be difficult, but she was surprised to hear Scott bring it up.
The police officer gave Scott a steady look but finally nodded, looking down at his food as he speared a bit of pot roast onto his fork. “Yep. Went to Seattle for some retail therapy, she calls it. Me, I call it systematic pillaging of my bank account.” He took another bite while they all sat in silence, Claire not sure what to say. Darryl swallowed and continued, “But I have to say, I’m enjoying the peace. It’s almost worth it.”
“That…sounds terrible,” Claire said. She remembered the sullen woman that sat next to the kind-hearted policeman at Christmas dinner. Ellen had mostly kept to herself, but had loudly said several critical things about the party and her husband that had threatened to dull the mood. She definitely hadn’t made any friends that day.
Darryl shifted in his seat, his eyes on his food. “Yep, but enough about me. How is the bakery treating you? Mrs. Applegate isn’t too much of an ogre, is she?”
Claire smiled, knowing a change of subject when she heard one. “No, she’s an angel. I’m amazed at what she puts up with, and how much she knows. I’m really enjoying learning how to bake from her.”
“I thought you knew how to bake before?” Darryl asked, his eyebrows going up.
Claire laughed as one of the waitresses came up to their table with two plates of pot roast and a small basket of fries. After the young woman had left, Claire breathed deeply of the savory smells coming from her plate before resuming her conversation. “Well, I thought I knew how to bake until Mrs. Applegate
set me straight. I can’t tell you how many things I’ve learned in just in the few short weeks I’ve worked there. It’s amazing.” she said, leaning over to enjoy the decadent scent of her meal.
“The baking or the pot roast?” Scott asked playfully.
“Both!” Claire said, then dug into her lunch. It was every bit as good as it smelled, and they all ate in silence for several moments.
After a bit, Darryl came up for air and filled them in on the latest police calls that had happened in Brightwater Bay. The details of the town’s police blotter always got printed in the local paper and Claire had gotten into the habit of reading it, but it was nice to hear what was new from Darryl. The paper recounted everything, from illegal fireworks to burglaries, but Darryl filled them in the on the latest news, including a domestic disturbance out at one of the older mobile home parks that were common in the area, and a lost dog whose owners had been putting up posters around town offering a modest reward for his return.
Darryl had just launched into the story of the domestic disturbance which included a large man and a small bikini that didn’t belong to the man’s wife, when they heard the front door of the café bang open loudly. A big-boned man wearing a thick red winter coat and black trapper hat came barging in and looked around in a panic. He had a crooked nose and Claire thought there was something wrong with one of his eyes. As soon as he spotted them sitting at the table, he stormed toward them, his eyes locked on Darryl.
The seasoned policemen had noticed the direction of the man’s gaze and quickly stood up to intercept him.
“Ben? What’s wrong?” he asked. As the agitated man got closer, Claire could see that the man’s eyes did indeed look in two different directions, and it took a moment for her to identify which one the man was actually using. His round face was frantic.
“Officer Portman!” he gasped. There was a strange, wet sound to the way he talked. “You have to come, and come right away! I found something!” He took a deep gulp of air. “Something bad!”
“Whoa, now hold on, Ben,” Darryl said grabbing the larger man by the shoulders and looking around at the other shocked patrons. Claire could see now that Ben was actually crying, which seemed so odd on such a brutish face. “What happened? Did something happen with your tow truck?”
Ben shook his head as he breathed hard. “No, I was out in my boat checking my crab traps. I was hauling them up and…something came up with one of them.”
“What did you find, Ben?” Darryl said, his voice serious.
“I don’t want to say,” the big man’s voice trailed off, as he glanced around the room nervously. The other diners were now openly listening in. “They’ll think I did it but I brought it back with me. You have to come to the dock so you can see.”
“All right. You can ride in my cruiser,” Darryl said, beginning to head for the door with Ben in tow. Claire noticed that when Officer Portman mentioned riding in his car, Ben’s face seemed to brighten in an almost childlike way at the prospect of the ride.
After Darryl had led Ben outside, Scott got up, put on his coat, and reached for Claire’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go see what he’s talking about.”
Claire blinked at the handsome man, her kneejerk reaction was to not get involved but it was hard to resist the mischievous look in his jade-green eyes. His grin widened when Claire reached for his hand and let him pull her out of the booth. They quickly paid at the front counter, then left in pursuit of Darryl to see what the commotion was all about.
Chapter 3
It wasn’t difficult to discover where Darryl had gone, since Scott knew roughly where Ben usually moored his small boat. As soon as they arrived, it was clear even to Claire that the craft was not meant for going out into deep water. The small boat was covered in peeling paint and mildew-looking patches, its ropes tying it to the dock frayed, and even the discolored vinyl of the lone upholstered seat split at the seams.
As Scott and Claire stepped onto the rickety wooden dock, their footsteps loudly drumming as they stood a few steps, Darryl glanced at them in irritation. Even though he seemed to disapprove of their following him, he didn’t tell them to leave, so they stood back quietly and watched him work.
Darryl went back to looking over Ben’s little boat. After walking back and forth for few minutes, he finally frowned and turned back toward Ben. “What did you bring back? Dang it, this better not be another old tire or some weird-looking fish.”
“No, it’s not a tire!” Ben said, his voice a high whine. He was wringing his hands and shaking his head. “A tire or a fish wouldn’t scare me. No, it’s…something else.” He pointed at a rope that was hanging over the side, taut. “I didn’t want it to be in the boat so I towed it in.”
Darryl glanced at the rope and then gestured for Ben to hold the boat for him while he got in, but the big man just shook his head vehemently.
“Here, I’ll get it,” Scott said as he stepped forward. Grasping the gunwale, he held on as Darryl crawled into the boat and began heaving against the rope. Whatever was on the other end had enough weight to it that it took a few moments to pull up, but as it slowly took shape in the water, Claire could see the dim form of a crab trap slowly emerge.
Except there was something trailing along behind it.
Something horrible.
Darryl abruptly froze before looking back at Scott and Claire, then quickly tied off the rope without pulling it up any further. His attempt at stopping the trap moving toward the boat didn’t work, though. Within seconds, the momentum of his pulling the rope brought up the traps terrible secret, and a body slowly floated to the surface behind the steel and wire frame of the crab trap. Thankfully, the face was hidden, but whoever it was still wearing a ratty coat and pants.
The four people watching stood in silent horror, before the gruesome object began slipping under the water once again.
“Uh, I think you’d better get Claire out of here, Scott,” Darryl said as he made his way over to the dock and climbed out of the shabby boat. “This isn’t likely to be pretty.”
Scott nodded with a grim look on his face, though Claire had already turned away. She didn’t want to see a dead body, much less one that had been underwater for any length of time. The image of the bloated hand that had floated into view would already haunt her dreams.
As Claire looked down at the dock, making sure she had no chance to look over into the water, she noticed something else. Darryl’s feet were leaving faintly red footprints on the dock where he stepped. She gasped and when Scott and Darryl followed her gaze, the police officer looked down, noting the trail of red that showed every step he had taken. He cursed softly and looked into the bottom of the boat, his graying eyebrows knit together in concentration. Quickly grabbing a plastic container that was sitting on one of the seats, he scooped the water up and lifted it, showing them all the red tinge.
“Ben, you didn’t pull the body into the boat, did you?” Darryl asked, turning toward the agitated man, who was watching with eyes round with panic.
The large man shook his head. “No way! No, I saw the body and dropped it back down into the water. It was never in my boat. I didn’t even touch it.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “I couldn’t stand to touch it. You know that.”
“Then why does the water in the bottom of your boat look like its filled with blood?”
Ben gaped, looking in horror at the crimson water in the plastic container. Slowly, he began to shake his head as tears moved down his craggy features. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do anything! I just found it, I swear! I knew you would blame me ‘cause I’m different!”
“Hold on, now,” Darryl said, stepping toward Ben, his hands out as he tried to calm Ben, but it didn’t work. The large man’s face became panicked and he took a wide swing at Darryl, his big fist knocking him into Scott, and then bolted toward the shore. The force pushed Darryl off the dock and he fell heavily into the gory water at the bottom of the boat. Still on the dock, Scott staggered backward over a
large coil of rope, giving out a grunt as he tumbled backward.
Jumping out of Ben’s way, Claire let out a panicked scream, briefly terrified that Scott might fall into the water with the dead body, but as Ben rushed past her she could see Scott had thumped into the worn wooden boards of the walkway, and he was already pulling himself to his feet. Ben kept running, his big feet slamming into the dock and then scrambling up the shore, before he disappeared across the street and out of sight in a side alley.
Claire helped a now sopping wet Darryl out of the boat before Scott joined her in pulling the middle-aged police officer to safety. The expression on Darryl’s face was thunderous as he stood shivering and dripping on the dock. He pulled his mic from his shoulder and talked into it while taking a few steps down the dock, alerting other police, but then he stopped. “Someone else will have to get him. I can’t leave the body,” he said, throwing his arms up in disgust.
“We can guard the boat for you,” Claire said, looking at Scott for confirmation. “Go on, go after Ben. We promise not to touch anything.”
Darryl gave them one more look, considering her offer, before turning and running. They watch him pounding along after Ben, but Claire suspected pursuit was useless. Darryl wasn’t moving any faster than Ben had, and though not fat, he wasn’t exactly fit either. Still, she watched as he disappeared into the same alley that Ben had before looking back at Scott.
“Wow,” she said, glancing back at the boat that was bobbing gently next to the dock. “This is definitely the weirdest lunch date I’ve had in ages.”
Scott nodded glumly. “I’m sorry, Claire. We shouldn’t have followed Darryl. I just thought it might just be something interesting that Ben pulled up from the ocean. He does that every once in a while. Last time it was an old bathtub and he thought the fish were taking baths down there.” He paused. “Ben’s always been a little bit different, and sometimes he doesn’t exactly understand what’s going on, but just about everyone in town has tried to be supportive of him.”
A Tiny Dash of Death Page 2