“Yeah, but… this was something else.”
“From a distance, a lot of creatures can be hard to distinguish. I don’t doubt that you saw something.” Zoe tapped the completed report on the desk. “We’ll send a truck out to look and if we see anything, we will clear the area to make sure nobody gets hurt.”
Cooper snorted. “Told ya. Can we go now?”
Taylor sighed, and they exited together. Zoe watched them go and exhaled. Part of her was excited. Like a kid trying to sleep on Christmas Eve, knowing all too well that Santa was on his way. The other part of her was a realist. Kids will be kids. Plus, folks from the city tended to misjudge nature. There was little reason to give Taylor and Cooper’s story more than a passing glance. Still, she followed procedure.
In perfect cursive, she dated the top of the report, stepped back into the bullpen of empty ranger desks and moved over to the corkboard in the center of the far wall. After successfully locating an orphan thumbtack, she pinned the report to the board, then added another pin on the park map next to the Big Lake side trail. A voice interrupted her train of thought.
“Another one?” Mathias asked, one hand on a coffee cup with the other on his hip.
He wiggled his nose and then swiped at a stray mustache hair that poked his nostril. Zoe turned to face him. “Another one.”
Chapter Three
Cool winds blew through the tops of the towering pines that decorated the inland stretches of Brewster, Massachusetts. The hustle and chaos of summer had come and passed, along with the flood of visitors that filled the restaurants, rentals, and beaches, all of which now stood empty. The deciduous trees mirrored the sandy shores as both had thinned out and left an empty presence behind.
“Keep your head down,” Doris Marsh whispered.
Casper ducked down. He sat with his back against the cool stone exterior of the building, which felt like a block of ice. He turned the phone’s camera back so it faced him.
“I don’t know if we—”
Doris waved her hands. “Shush! I hired you, now deliver the goods.”
Casper sighed and extended the phone over the lip of the window that looked into the sparse exercise room of the West Brewster Community Association Building. The cramped, four-room structure had seen few changes as it shifted from a single-family home into a shared space. The exorbitant costs ate into the HOA’s rainy day funds and then some, much to the ire of the residents, one of which was Doris Marsh.
“Higher, Casper. Come on now. I thought you were a professional.”
Although her feet didn’t move with the same grace as in her younger years, she could still find a person’s soft spot and push like there was no tomorrow. Casper had learned that the hard way. He frowned. “I used to be. This isn’t work for a private investigator, Doris.”
Doris cleared her throat so loud it sounded like static on the line. “Says who? Am I mistaken that you tracked down both of Pearl Greene’s ex-lovers?”
The mention of the word lover made him cringe. “No, but I—”
“And tell me again, what was the verdict?”
Casper sighed. “I really don’t—”
“Answer your paying client’s questions, Casper Kelly.”
“Walter Daly has been divorced three times; each marriage shorter than the last. Pearl dodged a bullet.”
“And the other one that got away?”
“Arthur Mulvaney was her high school boyfriend and since then he, uh—” Casper picked at blades of grass with his fingers and stared off into the distance.
“Ugly. He grew up ugly. Now you’re telling me that a little snooping on my husband is above your pay grade?” Doris snorted. “I’ll remember that when I’m cutting the check.”
“Fine.”
Casper shoved the phone upwards. Doris went quiet. For a second, Casper forgot he was a low-level detective for hire that the senior citizens of Brewster, Massachusetts, loved to call on for any minor task. There wasn’t much crime, or much of anything, in the sleepy beachside hamlet of Brewster. Cape Cod, particularly in the off-season, was a ghost town. The big, mysterious case that brought him to the area was a one-hit-wonder. His caseload for the past three months was a mix of finding long-lost lovers of local senior citizens on Facebook and searching for a lost cat. Oh, and Doris.
“Casper?” Doris’s tone was somber. “I’ve seen all I need to see.” She pushed strands of her white hair around her ears.
He faced the screen again. “Is he there?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “And so was she.”
Casper stood and brushed himself off. Blades of fresh-cut grass from the last mow of the season clung to his trousers. Small green stains scuffed the sides of his sneakers. “Think it’s time we go talk with him?”
Doris looked at the ground. Casper decided for her, half to put an end to the case and half to put an end to her prolonged misery. He marched through the double-doors of the lobby, pushed through the hallway, and into the exercise room. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. Daniel Marsh stood in the center of the hardwood floor with one arm around the back of Fran Roach.
“How could you?” Doris shouted from the phone. Her voice cracked like a heartbroken teenager.
Casper held the screen closer to Daniel. Crow’s feet had set in alongside deep wrinkles throughout his face. His thin, gray hair fell over his ears and the fluorescent overhead lights bounced off the baldness of his head. He squinted his eyes and looked at Casper. “Have we met?”
Casper pointed and Doris chimed in. “Down here, Daniel. It’s me, Doe.”
“Doe?” Daniel looked like somebody had just punched him in the gut. He squinted at the screen. “I can explain, I swear…”
Doris crossed her arms and looked away from the screen with a harrumph. “Go ahead.”
Casper glanced at Fran, who had retreated to the back wall of the studio. He smiled at her and shrugged. She shook her head and laughed.
Daniel moved closer to the phone, still squinting. His voice shook, but he spoke just below a yell. “Honey, how well do you remember our first date?”
“September 16th, 1953. You took me to The Great Wazu for a hoagie because you couldn’t afford a movie. We listened to the radio in your car and danced on the bluffs by the beach.”
Daniel looked at Casper and smiled. “I was a romantic.”
“What’s your point?” Doris shouted.
“I… well, I know it’s been a hard time, so I hired Fran here.”
“Hired?” Doris grew animated. “What is she, some kind of call girl?”
Fran chuckled aloud, shook her head again and left the room. Casper mumbled. “Maybe I should just give the phone to—”
“You move an inch and you are toast, Casper Kelly.” Doris’s voice boomed. “Use your detective skills for once in your life. Tell me what’s going on here.”
Casper glanced at Daniel, who had twisted his face with a mix of confusion and regret. “Ma’am, I think your husband may be able to fill you in on that better than I.”
“You mean my ex-husband?” Doris shouted. Daniel cringed at her tone. “The one who we just caught having a fling with a mid-forties floozy?”
Daniel turned bright red. He mumbled at first and then shouted so loud it echoed through the empty studio. “I was getting dance lessons!”
Doris stared at her phone. “What was that?”
“Dance lessons.”
“Dance lessons?” Doris said.
Casper turned the phone back to himself. “Dance lessons.”
Daniel continued. “Fran teaches ballroom dance at the Community College. I wanted to learn how to dance like we used to. My body just doesn’t move…” Before he could go on, Casper tossed the phone to Daniel and jogged out of the room.
Ten minutes later, Daniel hobbled down the front steps and handed Casper his phone back. “I’m… well, I’m sorry you got involved in all of this. I’m sure you had better things to do.”
Casper grinned.
I wish I had better things to do.
Daniel stepped towards his car and then turned back to Casper. “Oh, and your girlfriend called.”
“Delaney?” Casper said. He loved the sound of her name on his lips.
“The Detective?” Daniel said.
“That’s the one.”
Daniel grinned. “She said you two need to talk.”
Chapter Four
The school bell rang and like one of Pavlov’s test subjects, every student scurried into a nearby classroom like cockroaches in the midnight hour. Kyle Pittman watched the flood of teenage angst and hormones as they trickled into their desks and conversation hummed. A cloud of pungent perfume replaced the smell of dry erase markers. He liked that the students felt comfortable enough to talk freely to one another in his classroom. In his days as a student, he’d suffered under the ruthless reign of too many teachers who ruled with an iron fist. Who’d used fear as their means of keeping order. Instead, he did his best to mirror the educators that were human. Genuine. Authentic.
Kyle stood from his desk in the back of the classroom. The desk wobbled as he put his left palm on the surface to help his aching back. Too many miles this morning, Kyle. Take it easy tomorrow. The mental notes he made were all-too-often forgotten by the next morning. He’d hit the fork in the trail and always opt for another loop. There was something honorable about punishing his body. Pushing the limits. Never quitting. But none of that mattered to the gaggle of high school juniors that sat before him wiping the sleep from their eyes.
He cleared his throat and moved to the front of the classroom. The whiteboard had remnants of his previous lecture for the honors class yesterday. He often left the notes up to remind the other students how far ahead some of their peers were. They were busy preparing for the AP exams while this middle-of-the-road bunch fought through the end of Of Mice and Men and opening the pages of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
“Alright, settle now. Let’s get started. I’d like a volunteer to discuss what they learned from their research on Mary Shelley.”
A smattering of hands raised halfway in the air. Kyle had grown accustomed to this half-assed approach to participation. Only the overeager kids raised their skinny pencil arms straight in the air. Still, it was better than nothing.
“Kelsey, want to get us started?” Kyle said with his eyes on the iPad in front of him. He knew every student’s name, but the lack of eye contact kept the element of surprise intact. Kelsey was notorious for smacking her gum in the middle of Kyle’s lectures. A small price for her to pay for her shenanigans.
“Uh—Mr. Pittman, I didn’t—” Kelsey fumbled for words like she was playing a game of hot potato.
“Alright, who did the research that was assigned for homework?” Nobody looked up. In his periphery, he saw hands raise. “Harrison?”
The red-headed boy resembled Kyle as a child. Embers for hair. Pale skin. More freckles than stars in the sky. “Sure! Mary Shelley was born in London. Published Frankenstein when she was twenty-one years old and didn’t do too much else in her career.” Harrison rushed through words like they were about to disappear from his brain. “I also read on Wikipedia that her idea for the novel came from a nightmare she had. Makes sense, you know?”
“Thanks, Harrison.” Kyle forced a grin. “Now, I believe you went over the basics of different literature genres in your previous English classes last year. Right?” Crickets chirped in some far-off distance. “Can anybody tell me what type of story Frankenstein is? No need to raise hands, just call out. Let’s hear it.”
“Fiction!” a small chorus of voices said.
“Okay, yes, but be more specific. What type of fiction?”
Hesitant voices shouted all sorts of words. Old. English. Classic. Gothic. Kyle shook his head. “Keep digging. What is this story truly about? Kelsey?”
Kelsey looked startled at the sound of her name twice in one day. She paused and looked at the drab book that sat on her desk on top of decades-old doodles and inscriptions.
“S-Science Fiction?”
“Bingo,” Kyle exclaimed. “Kelsey is on top of it. And what about the story is scientific?”
“Well, I haven’t read it all yet but—”
“Just from what you know. The story of Frankenstein is one of the most popular in the world. They have transformed it into many films and other works. Even without reading it, I’d surmise you know the premise.”
“Surmise?”
“Assume.”
“You know what they say happens when you assume Mr. P,” Kelsey chuckled. Kyle went stone-faced.
“Never heard of it. But why science fiction?”
“Because like, the doctor takes a monster and makes it alive again. That’s science to me.”
“Excellent. And I know you all are into monsters. Vampires, Werewolves; all of that. This will be a fun one. Any questions? Anybody nervous to read a spooky story?” Heads nodded, and he dropped the subject. “Great. Great start class. Now I’d like you to break off into your quads and discuss what you learned about the author. I’ll ask each pod to report out in twenty minutes.”
The nails-on-chalkboard sound of metallic desk legs as they scraped against the scratched linoleum floor was nauseating but short-lived. They broke off into their small groups. Kyle circled to ensure that each group was on task. Small group discussions too often led to in-depth analysis of pep rallies or somebody’s awful haircut. Engagement was key. Plus, this was Frankenstein. The original monster story. The seed of them all.
After two laps, Kyle sat back at his desk and opened the bottom right drawer of his desk. He noticed the phone towards the bottom had a notification. He glanced around at the busy students, all diverging from the life story of Mary Shelley, and approaching the latest gossip. With their attention occupied, Kyle broke his cardinal rule for the students. He checked his phone.
A text popped up on his screen through WhatsApp. His palms were sweaty as he swiped it open. He read the instructions and surveyed the distracted class again as he archived the message. He swallowed the lump in his throat, shocked at how routine breaking the law had become.
For the rest of the period, Kyle half-heartedly led the class through exercises he’d pulled from the internet about Shelley’s life and the misconceptions about Frankenstein as a novel. The bell rang and released Kyle from his misery. His heart wasn’t in it anymore. His mind either. He daydreamed about cash that would soon deposit into his account. A lifelong vacation on a beach somewhere with little umbrellas in the drinks. Stunning women in little to no clothing. Just a little longer. So close.
Between classes, Kyle poked his head out and saw Andy in the hallway. He gave him a nod and Andy approached through a sea of acne-riddled faces and prepubescent voices that cracked as they discussed the latest memes on TikTok.
“Hiya, Coach Tucker,” said one girl who had caked on way too much makeup.
“Hey there, Molly. Ready for the meet this weekend?” Andy said in his best authoritative voice. “Hillside High can run with the best of ‘em this year.”
“We’ll take them down. We’re deeper than we were last year. Our top six cancels out their top-heavy seniors. Just you wait and see…” Molly reached out for a high-five and continued onward towards class.
“Hiya, Coach Tucker,” Kyle mimicked the young girl’s voice.
“Mr. Pittman, a pleasure as always.”
“Got a minute?” Kyle asked.
“You know it. I’ve got a work block. What’s up?” Andy said.
Kyle nodded towards the door, and they slipped into Kyle’s classroom. Stock posters of classic works of literature lined the walls. The Catcher in the Rye. To Kill a Mockingbird. Death of a Salesman. Crap leftover from past classrooms and hauled out of storage to decorate the tan cinderblock walls. Neither the students nor the teachers wanted to keep the prison-like aesthetic that an empty classroom came with. They stood in front of a Great Gatsby cutout peeling off the wall in one corner. Kyle pulled out
his phone and showed Andy the message.
Andy grinned. “You’re up. Son of a bitch.”
Kyle nodded.
“Happy for you, bud. Have to say that I hoped to get a job soon.” Andy rubbed his neck. “Regina is after me for alimony that she knows I don’t have. She’s ready to request full custody and all that. Tough times.”
“Sorry, man.” Kyle closed his phone. “I bet you’ll get the next one and if not, I’ll switch with you. Just gotta keep it on the down-low. I’m not trying to piss him off.”
“Yeah, weird how we’re still shaking in our boots, afraid of some asshole we’ve never met. But sometimes it’s better to stay in the dark, you know what I mean?”
“That asshole has paid for your last two Disney vacations and my new car,” Kyle laughed. “I’d rather be fearful and avoidant than risk pissing off some mob boss somewhere.”
“You think he’s in the mob?” Andy laughed. “Oh shit, like a career criminal? Like Tony Soprano or something?”
“Haven’t given it much thought. The paychecks are fat. The jobs are weird. But it’s easy money. Beats the hell out of preaching about classic lit to a bunch of kids in suburbia.”
“You mean they’re easy for you.” Andy glanced towards the door and then continued. “I had to bust my ass to get in decent enough shape to not look like a square peg next to a round hole out there.”
“Metaphors are your strong suit, Andy,” Kyle chuckled. “Tolkien has nothing on you.”
“Thanks, teach.” He approached the door. “Let me know how tomorrow goes, yeah?”
Kyle smiled. “If I make it out alive.”
Chapter Five
Longleaf pines stood in thickets and towered over Casper’s car as he drove past the beloved Punkhorns. The sweet familiar smell of evergreens mixed with salty sea air reminded him of the hot summer months spent working on the case. Although it had left the town with more gossip than answers, Casper saw the case as a victory. After all, it brought Delaney Shepard into his life. Now, he just had to figure out how to keep her around.
Trouble Afoot (Shepard & Kelly Mysteries Book 2) Page 2