A Corpse at the Cove

by Blythe Baker

  “No, I’m helping Matthew.”

  I glanced at Matthew for confirmation, looking to see whether Blaire’s presence was more helpful or stressful, but he just stared at me blankly.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “Call if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  I turned to leave, but just before I opened the door, Blaire called after me. She rolled her eyes, but her mouth was turned up in a small smile. “Thanks for checking on me, Aunt Piper.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Shep was waiting just outside the door, and he began talking almost as soon as I stepped out of the office.

  “Okay, so a jet skier found a body in a nearby cave. He had a pretty mean dent on the right side of his head, which is likely what did him in. No wallet or ID on him.”

  The words hung between us, heavy and expectant.

  Finally, after several seconds of silence, I shrugged. “Okay?”

  He widened his eyes at me. “Well, what do you think?”

  “Umm…I think that’s a real shame. Someone ought to crack down on the crime around here.”

  He sighed. “I mean, what do you think happened? Any clues or anything?”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was the sheriff coming to me to help him solve this murder investigation? Surely, I was misunderstanding something.

  “Are you asking me to help you solve this case?”

  Suddenly Shep seemed uncertain, he crossed and uncrossed his arms, his feet shifting. “Well, no. But, I mean, if you have any insights, it would be nice of you to share them with me.”

  “I’m not a detective, Shep. Or a police officer or a medical examiner or anyone with any sort of authority here. I can’t help you.”

  “Sure you can,” he said. “You’re like…what’s that guy’s name from that one show? He’s an author who helps solve murder cases and then writes books about them? You’re like one of those people. A regular person who helps the police solve cases.”

  “No, Shep, I’m really not. I’m a regular person. Period.”

  Shep looked confused. “I thought this was kind of your thing.”

  “Not by choice. I didn’t choose to get wrapped up in murder cases. It just happened. But this one is on you,” I said. “You don’t need my help, anyway.”

  Bolstered by my praise, Shep lifted his head and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe you’d want to help, but I can do it on my own.”

  “I know you can, Shep. You’ll have this one solved in no time.”

  I didn’t actually believe this. Maggie Summerfield’s murder had been classified as an accidental drowning for years before I figured out it was Martin Little. There was no saying that Shep wouldn’t come to the same conclusion with this case. However, that wasn’t my business.

  Shep strode off in the direction of a police boat—something I never thought existed before moving to Sunrise Island—his tan pants sporting a bright blue stain on the back of his left leg, presumably from an exploded pen. Normally I would have chased after him and told him about the spot, but at the moment, I simply didn’t have the energy. I’d left the house for syrup and butter and had somehow ended up making my complicated relationship with Mason ever so slightly more complicated, driven halfway across the island to make sure my niece was okay being so close to a murder investigation, and turned down a volunteer detective position from the island’s sheriff—which didn’t exactly leave me overflowing with confidence in my local police force. The day had gone too many places I didn’t expect, and I just wanted to be back home.

  I walked back to my car, passing by the old fisherman who had complained about my parking job and tossing him an insincere smile. As I was about to open the driver’s side door and climb in, I noticed the car next to me for the first time. It was Matthew’s.

  Immediately my mind flashed to a conversation I’d had with Page. We’d been discussing whether or not Blaire should have her own car on the island. She depended pretty heavily on Matthew driving her around, and despite buying her a bike the first week we moved to the island, Blaire refused to use it. I knew it had something to do with being a teenager and maintaining her image, but I didn’t understand how riding a bike could be embarrassing unless, of course, you fell off the bike in front of all of your friends. I had been leaning pretty heavily towards getting her a car. She would need a car when she left for college anyway, and her dad had expressed an interest in paying for her first car.

  “He’s trying to buy her love, Piper. I’m not going to let him do that,” Page had said.

  “Why not? You know Blaire can’t be bought, and this way, you will have been the one who allowed him to pay for it. You get all of the cool parent points without forking over any of the money. Win win.”

  “I read an article that said teenagers are most likely to hide things from their parents in their cars. It makes sense. It’s the only place outside of the home that the parent doesn’t really have access to. I don’t want to buy her a hiding spot,” Page said.

  “First of all,” I responded, “you won’t be buying it. Second, how was this study conducted? Did they ask a bunch of teenagers? Because, if so, I can almost guarantee the teenagers lie. Why would they give up their best kept secret? Third, do you not trust Blaire?”

  Page hadn’t answered me, but apparently she didn’t trust Blaire because she still didn’t have a car and we never talked about it again.

  Now, I was still rather dubious about whichever article it was that Page had read that claimed to know teenagers’ deepest secrets, but that still didn’t keep me from wondering what Matthew had hidden in his own car. From what I knew of his parents, they weren’t exactly the PTO types, and he seemed to have a lot of freedoms. And while I wanted to trust Blaire and believe he was a stand-up guy, there was really no telling until I did a little digging myself. It was my job as her aunt after all, right?

  As nonchalantly as possible, I slipped around the back of my car and opened the rear passenger door, pretending to be looking for something in the backseat. After a few careful glances around the area to be sure no one was watching me too closely, I spun around and peered through the grimy, dirt-streaked window of Matthew’s car.

  The first thing I noticed was the filth. There was no other word to describe it. The layer of grease and dirt over everything wasn’t merely untidy or dirty, it was filthy. Unidentifiable stains covered nearly every surface of the interior, and open food containers were strewn around the backseat in various stages of decay.

  Amongst the trash and food containers, I spotted a wallet. This wouldn’t have been unusual except I spotted several of them. Five, in total. And then, underneath an opened sour cream and cheddar chip bag, was a black fanny pack. Based on what I knew about Matthew and fashion for the last two decades, fanny packs weren’t a staple wardrobe item for most teenagers. Though, they were a staple for many vacationers. Since living on the island, I’d learned how to identify a vacationer from an islander, and fanny packs were a dead giveaway. What was Matthew doing with one? Had he stolen these things? Did Blaire know she was dating a thief?

  My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I actually wobbled where I stood. Too many questions were flashing through my mind.

  This is what you get, I thought. This is what you get for snooping around in Blaire’s life. You snooped, and now you know things you never wanted to know. Serves you right.

  Upset and in desperate need of a nap, I slipped into my driver’s seat and headed home.

  When I pulled up to the bed and breakfast, Page and Jude were sitting on the porch swing. I’d imagined driving home and dropping the ‘Blaire is dating a thief’ bomb on Page immediately, not because I thought that would be best for Page, but because I was having a hard time keeping the information to myself. However, I couldn’t deliver that kind of news when Jude was sitting next to her. Not only would that be an awkward conversation to have in front of a stranger, but Page would never forgive me for ma
king her look like a fool in front of Jude. Well, she would forgive me eventually, but I knew it would be better to avoid her wrath altogether.

  “Hey,” I said, mounting the steps slowly, feeling like a stiff elderly person.

  “Have you heard anything?” Page asked, leaning forward, her hand sliding discretely from where it had been sitting on Jude’s thigh.

  “About what?”

  She looked at me as though I’d just spoken complete gibberish. “About the body, obviously!”

  “Oh, no,” I said, shrugging. “Has there been any more news?”

  “You’re the one who would know,” she said.

  Why did everyone think that? You solve a few murders and suddenly you’re supposed to solve them all? I wondered if Sherlock Holmes ever felt like this. People’s expectations, the pressure.

  “No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m just as clueless as the two of you. Also, your daughter is fine, by the way.”

  Page narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty. I knew Blaire was fine as soon as you walked up. Jude told me you’d gone to check on her, and if something had been wrong, she would either be with you or you would have said it straight away.”

  I bit my tongue, thinking that Blaire wasn’t fine, not if she was dating a thief and didn’t know it.

  Jude looked considerably less pale than he had earlier after we’d heard the news. “You doing okay?” I asked.

  Page looked quickly between me and Jude. “Why would you not be okay?” she asked him.

  He laughed an embarrassed kind of laugh and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I kind of freaked out about the whole ‘dead body’ thing,” he said. “It just surprised me.”

  Page leaned back on the porch swing, her hand resuming its place just above his knee. “Oh, I didn’t even realize. I’m sorry.”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” he said, waving away her concern. “You should be sorry for the dead guy, not me.”

  Page focused her attention back on Jude, and I left them be, deciding to talk with Page about Blaire and what I’d found in Matthew’s car later.

  CHAPTER 8

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Page said.

  I stared at her, mouthing hanging open. “What do you mean it doesn’t mean anything? Of course, it means something! Stolen wallets mean something, Page!”

  “Would you keep your voice down?” she hissed. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith are in the room right across the hall and I don’t want them to hear us in here talking about stolen wallets.”

  My mouth hung open. “Who even are you? How are you not concerned that your daughter might be dating a hoarder and a thief?”

  “You don’t know that, so I really wish you’d stop saying it as if it’s a fact,” Page said.

  I wanted to argue more, but I also wanted to give Page time to process. I’d been stewing on the information all afternoon, and given the same amount of time, Page would certainly come to the same conclusion as I had. No normal high school boy had a stash of leather wallets and a fanny pack in his backseat without being some sort of pick pocket. There was no other explanation.

  Page took my silence to mean the conversation was over, though I knew we would reopen it at a later date, and she stood up and strode over to her closet.

  “I have no idea what to wear,” she said.

  “You didn’t seem to have any issues picking out this outfit,” I said, gesturing to her curve-hugging green dress and heels.

  “Yeah, the problem is that this green dress is one of the nicest things I own, and I can’t wear it on our date.” She flipped quickly through everything in her closet and then flung her arms to her sides and stomped her foot. “Help me, Piper. You are better at this than I am.”

  I looked down at my own ripped boyfriend jeans and white t-shirt. “I don’t see how that could be true. I’m basically a mess.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t lie to me. We both know that you work hard to look that messy.”

  “I’m honestly not sure whether that was a compliment or not,” I said.

  “It was whichever one makes you stand up and help me find something to wear.”

  I sighed and lifted myself off her bed. “You are so dramatic. Okay, where is he taking you?”

  “A boat,” she said.

  I paused, waiting for her to explain further, but she stayed silent.

  “I’m going to need a little more than that. Is it one of those dinner boats that circle around the shore for a few hours, or a sailboat, a speedboat, a yacht? All of those are totally different vibes and would require completely different outfits.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, growing suddenly exasperated. “He just said he was going to take me out on his boat.”

  I turned back to her closet, mouth twisted to one side of my face, deep in thought. I dug into the back, behind a multitude of identical slacks and white button downs, and pulled out a strappy black dress and threw it onto the bed next to her.

  “No way,” she said, picking it up by the shoulder strap and holding it as if it were a soiled pair of underwear. “This is too much. I haven’t worn this in almost five years.”

  I ignored her and dug out a chunky white sweater, a pair of black heels, and a pair of black sneakers.

  She looked at the random assortment of items unblinkingly, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, you got me. I have no idea how any of these things go together.”

  I held up the black heels. “These will look great with that dress.”

  “And the sweater and the sneakers?” she asked.

  I smiled, already proud of myself. “If you end up on some dinky boat in the middle of the ocean eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, this sweater will layer nicely over your dress and keep you warm, and these sneakers will keep you from slipping and falling into the water. You can transition perfectly from fancy night out to a casual night in with just a few pieces, both of which will fit inside of the black leather purse you have.”

  Page stared at me for a minute and then smiled. “Wow, you are annoyingly good at this.”

  “It’s a gift,” I said.

  Page grabbed the dress and ducked into her bathroom to change, leaving the door partly open.

  “I didn’t know he had a boat,” I said. “I thought he was just visiting the island.”

  “He is just visiting,” Page said, grunting and breathing heavily, “but apparently he must visit fairly frequently. He stores the boat on the island.”

  “It must be pretty expensive to store a boat here,” I said, trying to picture what Jude must do for a living. He didn’t seem like a boat owner, but then again, I didn’t know many boat owners. Perhaps they were all potential models. I heard several bottles tumble off the bathroom sink and clatter on the floor. “Are you okay in there?”

  Rather than answer, Page pulled the door open and entered the room, her arms held out to the side like a magician after a magic trick.

  I whistled. “You look amazing.”

  “It’s not too tight?” she asked, pinching a small bit of extra fabric at her waist.

  “It is, but I think that’s the point,” I said.

  She nodded. “You’re right. Also, are men still paying for dinner on first dates? I assume so, but I haven’t been on a date in a while, and I’m not sure where we’ve landed on that particular issue with regards to feminism and equality and female empowerment.”

  “It’s not that we don’t want men to pay for us, it’s that we want them to be the kind of person who would be comfortable if a woman paid for herself. If he’s a gentleman, though, he should definitely pay. Especially since he’s staying at our bed and breakfast for free,” I said, joking.

  Suddenly, Page’s face tightened, nervous, and she darted back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  “Page?” I asked, sensing something was up almost immediately and moving to the door. “That was a joke. He has paid for his room by now, right? He said that he would ha
ve the money by today. Does he?”

  She didn’t answer me, so I turned the knob and pushed the door open. Page was standing in the bathroom, the dress halfway down her midsection, her raggedy tan bra showing.

  “First, change into a different bra. Second, has he paid for his room or not?”

  Page’s shoulders stiffened and then fell. “It’s just one more day. He just needs one more day, and then he can pay. It’s really not a big deal,” she said.

  “It is a big deal,” I insisted. “Especially when the business is only a few weeks old and we are still paying off renovations. We might be able to afford to make bad business decisions in the name of love later on, but at this stage, we definitely can’t afford it. Everyone has to pay for their room regardless of how dreamy they are. Also, how is he taking you out on a date when he can’t afford to pay for his room?”

  “He’ll pay tomorrow!” Page shouted, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I will make sure he pays tomorrow, okay? Now can we please just not talk about this? I’m already nervous enough. I don’t need this dark cloud of stress hanging over my head all night.”

  I took a deep breath. I wasn’t done lecturing Page. She had given me so many long, drawn out lectures over the years that it was nice to finally have the opportunity to dish it back. However, it was clear she was nervous. She hadn’t been on a first date in almost twenty years, and she was excited. I finally had the sister I saw in all of the movies. The one who wanted to talk about guys and who I helped get ready for dates. It was weird for us, but nice, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

  “We can put a pin in it,” I said, pointing at her with a serious finger. “But we will reconvene tomorrow if the issue hasn’t been dealt with.”

  Page rolled her eyes, but then gave me an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Piper.”

  “What are sisters for?” I said.

  I turned, pulled open her top drawer, and tossed her a black strapless bra. “But seriously, take off that granny bra. Even if Jude can’t see it, he’ll sense it. It’s so old it’s probably haunted.”