Murder on Edwards Bay (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 2)

by Linda L. Dunlap

  The second assassin rode in the black SUV, nodding off whenever the road smoothed enough to encourage sleep. His right hand lay across his lap, fingers splayed across the weapon on his belt. He was careful, never taking unnecessary chances in life or on the job. It was good to have his part of the assignment over, and the payment waiting in Houston. The van driver was the money man, the disburser, the one who notified the crew of any changes in plans. There had been no opportunity to back out once they began. Any reneging on the deal had offered only one ending, a merciless death.

  The third figure, the driver of the SUV was looking down the road to the end of the job, when the money could be spent. Loving money was more than a part-time commitment; it meant everything in life had to be geared toward success, with no lost time spent on relationships. Someone had once said that money wasn’t the root of evil; the lack of money was the impetus to do wrong.

  A fourth person in the killing crew was an errand boy, a one-time hire whose job had been to acquire a certain kind of boat, and get rid of it afterward. Sloppiness on his part provided the crew with a boat that was too large, requiring the team to steal a smaller craft for use in the small water way. The big man hated sloppy screw-ups.

  The fourth person was waiting in the park while the others returned from the marshy slip, gathered their things, and left. The big man stayed behind and pulled his weapon. He was about to dispose of the screw-up, but the target was cautious, and began running-an unexpected turn of events. The big man fired his silenced S&W.38 at the runner headed toward the rental shack then ceased firing, when the figure disappeared from sight.

  The blood on the ground gave the runner’s path away, but the boat docks at the rental shack were no more than a quarter mile down the beach. The wounded man needed to be found, and finished off, but the big man couldn’t afford to be seen at the public boat docks that night. Unaware that Gandy had left the store unmanned, the big man missed his opportunity, and reluctantly left the park, sure of the fact that the wounded man would require dispatch at a later time.

  6:00 P.M. Monday November 23

  Sheriff Jack Fuller was a large black man, with gray frizzy hair, deep brown eyes that sunk into his broad face until they almost disappeared, and a mouth that seldom if ever smiled. He was pretty much all business, the local residents said, but a fair man who could be trusted with your friendship, if he decided to partake of it. He did laugh out loud occasionally, but his face didn’t change much when he did, a quirk that caused concern among strangers who heard the loud bellow, but saw no signs of mirth on the large face.

  Sheriff Jack’s newest deputy had come down from a small town called Buena Vista, somewhere southwest of the capitol city, where Ernest Garrison had worked as deputy for ten years then decided he needed a change of scenery.

  The evening air had cooled considerably by the time the two men got their equipment ready and the boat into the water; the sky becoming overcast again as the sun went down. Ernest Parker Garrison was a large man about the size of Sheriff Jack, and between the two of them, they managed to tip the speedboat a little too far to one side, if they sat anywhere but in the middle. Ernest was a fast learner, studying Sheriff Jack’s ways until he was able to follow the man’s movements, in or out of a boat.

  Off in the distance, nothing was visible to the two lawmen but water, no lights of any kind shone from the far shore. It was understandable, because the long rocky shoreline was flooded during the high tides that came in from the Gulf every day, and there weren’t any places for real estate development. The salt water tides all along the north shore were fierce, and had been known to wreck small boats that got caught between the waves, and the unforgiving rocks. Edwards Bay was unique to that part of the Gulf Coast, with high cliffs and rocks, reminiscent of ocean shoreline.

  The resort on the southern shore was called Edwards Paradise, named for the large lake of water existing in symbiosis with the much larger Gulf. The land was surrounded by salt water on one end, and fresh water on the other, from a canal that connected to the river a little further northwest. At certain times of the day, the fresh water of Edwards Bay would be inundated with a strong dose of salt, as the tides rolled in from the Gulf, causing the water level to rise rapidly.

  The oyster reefs were more prevalent on the north side of the bay; the regular infusion of salt water upon the shell creatures brought with it a ready supply of food necessary for growing good, fat oysters. The oystermen would get out early in the day, before the tides washed in, when the water was at its lowest level, and hand pick the shell fish from the shallow bottom of the bay. Heavily laden skiffs with huddled, grizzled, men in knit caps, high top tennis shoes, and long pants muddied and torn would return before noon, headed back toward the open boat ramps.

  Sheriff Jack knew the routines of the oystermen of Edwards Bay, because his daddy had been one of them. Sheriff Jack, or back then, just Jack would climb in the boat with his daddy, dressed to stay as warm as possible while he was wading in cold water during the fall and winter weather. Oysters were said to be good only in months with an ‘R’ in them, and Jack had spent many winter months, dipping his chin into the cold water as he bent over; picking the oyster shells with gloved hands, keeping to the outside part of the reef where the larger shell fish lay in smaller bunches. Sometimes only the edge of a toe was necessary for finding them in the murky water.

  The oystermen knew the rocky shoreline, knew the best places for anchoring small boats away from the big algae covered rocks; knew where the inlets were located-the small streams of tidewater ending in stagnant pools, cut away from the main body. Those small strips of water often held the choice oyster beds sought by the experienced oystermen.

  Young Jack Fuller had learned to spot those small marsh lined waterways from his daddy’s boat, pegging them to his memory when it was time each year to go back to the beds. The water had encroached upon the land a little more each year, but even so, young Jack knew the locations each time he returned with his daddy after the weather got really cold.

  The lay of the land was on Jack’s mind when he and his newest deputy got ready to put the boat into the water. The outboard motor was old, but powerful with a tankful of gas for the late evening run. Wind on the bay would be chilly, so he brought along a jacket with a hood; being cold definitely killed a man’s concentration. He gave his deputy a look, then nodded, noticing that Ernest had a fine water resistant coat ready for the night’s business. Jack hoped it would be a quick trip, and neither of them would have reason to become chilled before they returned to the boat dock.

  Jack chose to sit at the motor end of the boat because he was familiar with the bay, the boat, and the right amount of power needed to negotiate the waves off the northern shore. He had no doubts; the search for the couple would take them to that shoreline. His gut rebelled at the thought of those treacherous rocks, and high tides, for the combination meant sure trouble. The oyster harvesters would know where to go to avoid the turbulent waters, but a stranger in a small boat would not have that information; he might have attempted landing on the shore.

  Darkness was already upon the bay, with the last light day disappearing below the horizon, and Jack chewed on the end of a King Edward cigar to calm his stomach, wondering what they might find in the night ahead. His deputy sat forward, eyes searching as they motored across the water, toward the north shore. He believed it best to go to the worst first, rather than waiting until it was colder and darker, to attempt the north side search.

  If the couple were really lost, and needed to be searched for beyond the means of the sheriff and his deputy, it would probably have to wait until a helicopter could circle around the end of the rough land, and get a panoramic view of the marsh grass and flat land that led away from the rocky shoreline. There was nothing much to be found there. The land was poor and hard to reach because of the small marshy inlets that prevented roads being built. What was good for the oyster harvesters was not all good for real estate developers.<
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  The south shore of Edwards Bay was heavily populated, not only was the resort there, but many retirees from Houston and surrounding cities had leased the land from the Corps of Engineers and built their vacation houses. The Corps owned the bays and the beach land for the Gulf of Mexico was not for sale. The houses built on private land were bought and sold; the part that was leased was the land that ran into the water.

  Jack knew if the couple had gone to shore, and needed help on the south side, someone would have called the boat house for them. Old man Gandy and his son both lived along the south shore, not too far from the boat house. The old man was hard of hearing and feeble, but he could still manage a telephone. Of course, there was the possibility that those things could still happen, and present a happy ending for everyone, but every hour made that less likely.

  The wind was sharp, coming out of the east after it changed back during the evening, with a new cold front threatening the coast land. The oystermen knew the east wind brought no good to anyone; it penetrated the small places on a person, finding the weak spots where cold hurt the most. Many an east wind had tortured young Jack as he sat on the front seat of the boat with, his daddy revving the small motor, sending them flying across the bay toward their hidey holes. The memory made him shiver inside his hooded jacket. He wondered if the couple they were looking for had found warmth out of the wind.

  Ernest sat shotgun in the boat, content to use his perfect eyesight for scouring the water and the shoreline, looking for anything floating in the water. His hands were tucked inside his water resistant jacket, keeping them dry and warm. It wasn’t cold yet, but his senses told him it was coming. The wind blew up his nose and across the tops of his ears, chilling him and making the snot run before he could catch it on his sleeve.

  Working for Sheriff Jack had been a new beginning for Ernest, being treated kindly by his boss was mighty nice. The sheriff didn’t fancy things up or use pretty words when he needed something done, he just told Ernest what he wanted and knew it would be done right. The older man seemed to trust him, and that made Ernest feel really good. Right now, though, he thought, I might be earning my keep.

  After a while, Jack looked down the boat at Ernest and tapped the paddle on the middle seat, getting his deputy’s attention. He shook his head and motioned he was turning the boat around. They had been on the water for an hour and hadn’t spotted anything. Jack pulled out his radio and spoke to one of his deputies working the night shift.

  “Get in touch with the Corps and see about a helicopter with a light. Need to find those folks tonight if we can. We’ll be back at Gandy’s, tell dispatch to let me know when they get ready to show up.”

  Chapter 2

  The interstate was crowded with cars, crossover vehicles, or SUV’s, and semis hauling everything from soup to nuts. A huge truck carrying Campbell’s Soup had just passed her, the driver absorbed in emptying a water bottle’s contents into his mouth. Maude Rogers kicked back in the seat of her pick-up truck, content to let the other drivers hog the road. She was taking a few days off for the first time in two years.

  Lilly Ann Hamilton, her niece, lived on the coast and had wrangled Maude into agreeing to visit, the girl refusing to take no for an answer. The weather was cool, but not unpleasant, even though there was some rain in the forecast for the coastal region around the small town of Ellison, where Lilly Ann lived with her mother.

  Maude’s brother, Leonard, had died of a drug overdose when he was in his early thirties, leaving an ex-wife and their ten year old child. Maude believed that the divorce and the loss of his family had contributed to her brother’s slide into tragic circumstances. He had suffered from depression for many years, beginning early experimentation with illegal drugs, looking for happiness, or a semblance of it. His need for more and more of the substance got out of control.

  Maude had been working in Chicago during those years, and was unaware of the extent of her brother’s situation. By the time she knew of his drug addiction, he was dead from an overdose. She believed it was intentional; that her brother was tired of living the life he had chosen.

  A small sports car edged up behind her, too close for her comfort. The driver stayed on her tail, expecting that Maude would get out of the way, but there was nowhere to go safely. The lane on the left was solid traffic, and the right was dominated by semis on their way to delivery points with deadlines.

  She tried tapping her brakes, but the driver following her was unfazed, responding in kind, only now the headlights of the car began flashing, urging her on. The car ahead of the pick-up was driving at a safe rate of speed and didn’t seem inclined to speed up.

  “Sorry Buddy,” she said, wagging her finger in her rearview mirror, “You’re not going to get there any faster by riding my tail.”

  The driver of the small car was relentless, staying so close, that Maude began getting a little more upset each minute, wondering whether the driver was really that stupid. She turned on her bubble light from the bag on the seat, rolled down the window, and slammed the magnetic emergency strobe against the roof of the truck. The brilliant reds and blues began flashing, causing the person ahead of her to slow, wondering if he had broken a traffic law.

  The sports car driver slammed the brakes, trying to get away from Maude and the flashing light, the front wheels of the trailing vehicle skewing, entering the traffic lane on the left. The car that was traveling in the fast lane quickly moved ahead, opening a small space between vehicles for the escaping sports car to slip inside. Maude saw some of it in her rearview mirror; both the fast thinking driver who opened the spot in traffic, and the idiotic driver of the small car whose actions could have caused a major pileup on the freeway.

  Using the police light to her advantage, Maude moved into the left lane until the small sports car came into view; all the while observing the traffic ahead parting to allow her through. The driver of the sports car began slowing as Maude came close behind, her pick-up hot on its bumper. The driver pulled the car over slowly to the side of the road, with Maude herding the vehicle away from traffic. She parked the pick-up as far from the line of traffic as she could safely move it, until the driver’s side wheels were on the edge of the grass.

  The door of the small car opened hesitantly as Maude approached the side of the car, her weapon in hand. The Glock semi-automatic encapsulated all of the driver’s fears into one bad dream. She appeared to be in her teens, a skinny, young girl with stringy, blonde hair and wide, brown eyes. Her pupils dilated upon seeing Maude Roger’s five foot nine inch frame standing by the door.

  “Get out and stand with your back against the car. Keep your hands out in front of you.”

  “Yes Ma’am.” The girl returned-the squeak of fear in her voice.

  “Now, tell me, young lady, why you were in such a hurry, hanging on my bumper, flashing your lights trying to get me to run into the man ahead of me?”

  “I…I was supposed to be somewhere and I’m running late. Please don’t shoot me.”

  Maude had to stop for a minute, and get her emotions under control. The urge to laugh out loud was suddenly overpowering.

  “What kind of meeting is so important, that you would chance getting killed on the highway?”

  The girl mumbled words about being with friends, and needing to get to her grandparent’s house.

  Maude knew she was out of her jurisdiction, and wanted to scare the kid, but she had no intention of ticketing her.

  “Well, you run along now, but let me give you a piece of good advice. Watch your driving and don’t be tailgating. It will definitely get you killed.”

  “Yes Ma’am. I promise to be more careful. And thank you for not shooting me,” the girl said.

  “You’re welcome.” Maude said. She watched the car pull back into traffic, and murmured. “I get ‘em, don’t I.”

  Chapter 3

  Lilly Ann lived in a gated subdivision in Ellison, Texas, near shopping centers and bus lines, the kind of place her au
nt had always avoided. Maude liked the solitude of the country, even though her work was in the very heart of the city of Madison, Texas. The Homicide Division of the police department had three other detectives besides her, a fact that allowed for time off such as the visit to her niece. Most of the time, Maude stayed home on her days off, sitting with a few friends, or lately, bike riding.

  She had taken up the sport again after many years, the first time out of necessity when she had to chase down a murderer, and the bicycle was the only means she had of catching him. It was long story, but thankfully had a decent ending. Nowadays, the bicycle she owned was for exercise and just plain fun; she enjoyed the motion and had discovered it was good for her arthritic knees.

  The women of Maude’s family ran to tall, thin frames, and sharp tongues. Lilly Ann was no exception. She was twenty seven and unmarried, a student working toward her doctorate in some sort of medical science. Maude was unsure of what the girl wanted to do with the education, but she supported her in her actions.

  Lilly Ann’s mother was the exception to the family rule-she was short and soft spoken, and as far as Maude was concerned, the woman appeared to be a good mother to the girl. Maude felt out of place sometimes in the woman’s company, due to the type of work that she did for the police department. It was not a place where the weak-willed or soft-spoken survived for very long. The neighborhood saw to that. Maude’s topics of conversation were not always acceptable in the polite society-few women wanted to hear about murder and mayhem.