One Feta in the Grave

by Tina Kashian

  At noon, the loudspeaker crackled beneath the bandstand. “The food and wine tasting is starting!”

  Waiting tourists and locals rushed to cram each food station. Lucy walked from station to station greeting everyone. Lines quickly formed, and it was soon clear the tasting was a hit.

  A hand reached out to grab Lucy’s shoulder. “You sure know how to serve killer food!”

  A middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt with colorful tiki birds grinned at her. The skin on his nose was peeling from sunburn.

  A tourist, for sure.

  “Thanks,” Lucy said. “Have you tried the hot wings from Mac’s Irish Pub? He’s also serving wine and his own micro beers.” She pointed to a tent on the far side of the boardwalk where Mac McCabe, owner of Mac’s Irish Pub, had fired up a barbecue. Beside him was a red-and-white check covered table laden with tempting bakery items from Cutie’s Cupcakes—a variety of pies, cookies as big as saucers, and specialty cupcakes. Salted caramel, chocolate ganache, carrot cake with cream cheese icing, and lemon drop were just a few of Susan Cutie’s flavors.

  Lucy walked by each tent to make sure everyone had what they needed. Bubbling trays of baked ziti and hot garlic bread were being served at Guido’s table. Lola Stewart, owner of Lola’s Coffee Shop, was busy working an espresso machine that hissed and spat clouds of steam as it turned milk into frothy foam. Lola served the best cappuccinos at the Jersey shore. Three different pizzerias from the boardwalk offered different toppings—from meat lovers to vegetarian with arugula, and eggplant to Sicilian.

  Lucy wove through the thick crowd and stopped by a smoking grill. The Barbecue King, Ed Simmons, waved a long-handled fork in the air as he made a show of turning over sizzling chicken legs on a grill. His wife stood beside him and ladled spoonfuls of his specialty homemade barbecue sauce into short disposable cups for sampling. Wiping his sweaty brow with his sleeve, Ed bellowed, “Best barbecue in town!” Immediately, his line grew longer.

  Next to him was the local bread baker, Eric Scotch, whose table was crammed with loaves of freshly baked bread and jars of flavored olive oil for dipping. Across the way was Nola Devone, owner of the Frozen Cone, who offered homemade ice cream of every flavor from traditional chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry to specialties like pistachio, bubble gum, peanut butter bomb, and birthday cake.

  Lucy spotted Azad serving his own specialties from Kebab Kitchen. Handsome and smiling, he served a long line of customers effortlessly. Beside him, Butch helped refill the containers with small wrapped gyros, bamboo skewers of vegetables and lamb, bulgur sausage, and falafel, as fast as they emptied.

  “Hey, Lucy. Want a sample?” Azad asked as he held up a skewer of shish kebab.

  “You know I do, but I’ll wait. Do you need anything?”

  “Nope. Everything’s good so far.”

  Of course, it was. Azad was in his element serving his food to clamoring people. He exuded a compelling vitality as he grinned and chatted with each customer, pausing to compliment a baby, and Lucy understood why he’d gone to culinary school. He could easily be one of the stars on the food channel her mother watched. Angela was obsessed with a celebrity chef, Cooking Kurt, but as Lucy watched Azad, she thought Kurt would have some stiff competition if the producers ever spotted Kebab Kitchen’s head chef.

  Lucy waved to Azad and Butch and continued her tour. A dozen other stations were packed with people sampling food. The Waffle House, the local diner, a seafood joint, and even Holloway’s Grocery was present and serving freshly cut fruit.

  Lucy’s stomach rumbled. How long had it been since she’d had a banana nut muffin this morning? She was suddenly ravenous, and wanted a sample from each tent.

  A flash of white from the street caught her eye. The Ocean Crest Town News van pulled up to the boardwalk and came to a screeching halt in a no parking zone. The town’s sole investigative reporter, Stan Slade, hopped out and made his way up the ramp to the boardwalk.

  On a normal day, Lucy would duck into the nearest shop to avoid Stan. There was no love lost between them. But today was different. The festival committee had paid for an advertisement in the newspaper and they’d requested Stan to cover the wine and food tasting.

  “Ms. Berberian,” Stan said. “Mind if I snap some pics?” Middle-aged, stocky, and muscular, he wore black-rimmed glasses. For reasons unknown, he’d left a New York City reporting position to come to Ocean Crest and work for the Town News.

  Lucy motioned to the food stations. “Please do.”

  A corner of Stan’s lips twitched. “Now that’s an attitude change for you, isn’t it?”

  Lucy’s checks felt like they would crack from the strain of holding a smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re only interested in good publicity for yourself.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m only interested in honest reporting from you,” she countered.

  Rather than take offense, he threw his head back and laughed. “Checkmate, Ms. Berberian.” He wandered off and started snapping pictures of the milling crowd, as well as getting some of the restaurateurs to pose for him mid-service.

  As the day progressed, the lines grew longer and the throng of people grew thicker. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the ocean, and the air grew humid and hot. By two o’clock, Lucy finally gave in and sampled Guido’s baked ziti with garlic bread, Mac’s hot wings, Azad’s gyros, and a small piece of Susan Cutie’s lemon meringue pie. She washed everything down with a beer from Mac’s Irish Pub.

  The microphone beneath the bandstand screeched, making Lucy jump. She turned to see Katie walk to the front and take the mic off the stand. A band stood on the stage ready to play at a moment’s notice. Lucy recognized them as a local group, and their logo, THE BEACH BUMS was written on the front of their drums in bold, black letters. A large group of people had gathered, including some of the judges of the sand sculpture contest. She spotted Archie in the back with his nephew, Neil.

  “I’m pleased to announce this year’s winner of the Ocean Crest sand sculpture contest,” Katie said. “It was a difficult decision with all the wonderful sculptures, but the winner of the five-thousand-dollar prize goes to Rory Carey for his adorable snowman sculpture!”

  Cheers erupted for the winner who approached the front to accept a large cardboard check. Stan Slade snapped pictures while others recorded the event with their iPhones.

  Lucy glanced at Neil. A sulky expression crossed his pinched face, and Archie patted his nephew on the back.

  Just then, Harold turned to Archie and gave him a smug look. Archie glowered back.

  Oh, brother. Those two don’t quit.

  The band began playing a lively tune. The roller coaster started its first run of the day, and the sound of screaming teenagers added their noise to the music coming from the bandstand.

  Lucy waved at Katie, then headed back to the food tents. After one last check that each restaurateur had what they needed, Lucy was exhausted. She’d been on her feet for hours. The Jersey shore sun was blazing hot, and she felt the beginnings of a sunburn on the bridge of her nose and forehead. The smell of smoking grills, food, and coconut-scented sunscreen was overwhelming. She needed a quick break.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen,” she told Jose.

  “A cigarette break?” Jose asked as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

  “No. I don’t smoke. Just a quick walk.”

  He shrugged and stuffed the pack of cigarettes back in his pocket.

  She walked to the stairs leading from the boardwalk to the beach. The music from the bandstand was muted here, and the screams from the roller coaster on the sole pier seemed miles away.

  A pleasant ocean breeze cooled her cheeks and teased the wayward strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She slipped off her sandals, and the surf sprayed her ankles. Gulls squawked and circled above. She stopped to pick up a pretty shell, then tossed it back into the water. She breathed in the fresh ocean air and felt her stre
ss melt away. The beach always had this effect, calming and soothing, and she couldn’t envision herself living anywhere else than in Ocean Crest.

  After fifteen minutes, she headed back, but at the last minute she decided she needed a bit more time, and rather than climb the steps to return to the boardwalk, she veered right and walked under it. In a couple of hours, high tide would begin and the ocean would reach under the boardwalk. But for now the sand was cool beneath her feet.

  A few yards away, a large shadow appeared ahead on the sand. She stared. What could it be? A stack of boards? A sand dune bush? A large trash bag someone had illegally dumped?

  She changed her mind as she crept closer and a shock of white hair came into focus, then an outstretched arm with a Wile E. Coyote tattoo.

  It wasn’t a trash bag.

  Oh, no. It was Archie.

  “Mr. Kincaid?” she asked aloud although deep in her gut she knew he wouldn’t respond. He’d never speak again. Her gaze lowered to the bullet hole in the center of his chest.

  She reached toward him and placed a trembling finger to his neck. She had to be sure.

  Nothing. Oh, God.

  Archie Kincaid was dead.

  CHAPTER 4

  Lucy reached for her cell phone and dialed 911. “There’s a dead body under the boardwalk.” After describing the exact location, she told the responder that the victim didn’t have a pulse. As soon as she hung up, she called Katie.

  Katie answered on the third ring. “What’s up?”

  “Katie! Archie Kincaid’s been shot and killed!”

  “What!?”

  “Archie’s dead.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Under the boardwalk. A few yards away from the bandstand.” Lucy clutched her cell phone. Was that the sound of the ocean over the phone or was she just hearing it from where she stood? “Where are you?” she asked Katie.

  Lucy heard heavy breathing, as if Katie was running, then Katie said, “I’m on the beach. I’ll be right there.”

  Lucy stepped from under the boardwalk and spotted Katie running toward her from the surf.

  Katie puffed as she came to a halt, then took two steps closer and froze at the sight of Archie. Her hand flew to her mouth. “You called the police?”

  “Yes. What are you doing on the beach?”

  “I was taking a break. You?”

  “Same.”

  “Oh, God. I wonder who shot him.” Katie’s eyes grew large. “You think the shooter’s lurking around?”

  Lucy’s gaze darted around. “I wouldn’t think so, but you may be right. Let’s not take a chance.” Together they hurried to the wooden steps leading back to the boardwalk. Lucy clutched the handrail just as Officer Bill Watson, followed by another cop, came tearing down the steps.

  “Lucy!” Bill said. “You okay?”

  Lucy sighed with relief at the sight of him. Tall and fit, he looked imposing in his officer’s uniform. She recognized the young red-haired, freckle-faced officer from her prior visit to the police station weeks ago.

  Bill spotted Katie and his jaw dropped. “Katie! Are you—”

  “We’re both fine, but Archie isn’t,” Katie said. “Lucy found him.”

  “Where?” Bill asked.

  Before Lucy could describe the spot, another man rushed down the steps. She recognized him immediately. Detective Calvin Clemmons, Ocean Crest’s sole investigator. In his late thirties, with straw-colored hair and a bushy mustache, they’d never gotten along. It hadn’t helped that she’d interfered in past murder investigations. Any hopes that the detective’s opinion of her had improved were dashed when he noticed her, halted, and said, “Lucy Berberian. Why am I not surprised you’re involved?”

  Lucy frowned. “I found Mr. Kincaid, nothing else.”

  “Show us where,” Clemmons demanded.

  Lucy walked the three men to the area and pointed to the spot, but just as she started forward, Bill turned to Lucy and Katie. “Stay back until we decide it’s safe.”

  Together, they watched as Detective Clemmons removed a pair of gloves from his belt, snapped them on, then crouched down to study the body.

  Meanwhile, the red-haired officer took pictures of Archie. Number tags were placed on the footprints around the body and photographed as well. It occurred to Lucy that her footprints were mingled with the killer’s. Gooseflesh rose on her arms.

  “How was he killed?” Katie asked.

  “As far as I could tell, he was shot in the chest,” Lucy said.

  “And no one heard the gunshot?” Katie asked.

  It was a good question. How could a man be murdered in the middle of the afternoon on a busy beach under a bustling boardwalk and no one saw or heard anything?

  Bill turned away from the scene and came forward, his expression grave as he looked at his wife, but he didn’t comment on her appearance. He answered her question instead. “Looks like Archie was shot with a twenty-two-caliber handgun. As far as handguns go, it’s small and wouldn’t have made much noise. The noise from the crowd, the band, and the roller coaster would have drowned out the sound of the gunfire.”

  Detective Clemmons, who’d finished inspecting the body, approached. “Who touched him?”

  “I did,” Lucy said.

  “Did either of you find a weapon?”

  “No.” Lucy hadn’t seen a gun lying around, but then again, she hadn’t been searching for one. The sight of Archie lying in the sand, eyes unseeing and face ghostly white, had disturbed her too much. “Is there one?”

  “We found the casing, but no gun,” Bill said.

  Katie pressed a hand to her chest. “Who could have killed him in cold blood?”

  “That’s a good question, isn’t it? What were you both doing on the beach?” Clemmons asked.

  “I’m in charge of the food and wine tasting, and needed a break. I was walking under the boardwalk when I . . . when I found Mr. Kincaid,” Lucy said.

  Clemmons looked from Lucy to Katie. “You two were walking together?”

  “No,” Katie said.

  “No? Then what were you doing on the beach, Mrs. Watson?” Clemmons asked.

  “I was taking a break, too.”

  “I see,” Clemmons said, his jaw tightening. “You mean to tell me you were both taking a break to walk on the beach? And that neither of you had any idea that the other was doing the same?”

  “That’s right,” Lucy said.

  It was true, but the way he made it sound caused Lucy’s nerves to tense.

  “Did either of you see anything? Hear anything?” the detective asked.

  “No,” Lucy and Katie said in unison.

  “I see. You can both return to the boardwalk until we finish here. But stay around for questioning,” Clemmons directed.

  “How long will that be?” Katie asked.

  “We need to collect the evidence before high tide washes everything away. Then we’ll talk,” Clemmons said.

  “He’s right,” Bill said.

  High tide. Why didn’t she think of that? Already the water had crept closer than when she’d found the body. What if she hadn’t decided to go for a walk and had never discovered the body? What if high tide had carried it away?

  No one would know. At least, not until the body had washed back ashore. That could take days. Maybe that was the killer’s intent?

  Katie and Lucy made their way back and trudged up the boardwalk steps.

  Lucy let out a held-in breath. “Clemmons thinks I’m a magnet for murder.”

  “He’s stubborn and can hold a grudge,” Katie said.

  “He thinks we’re lying. It was a weird coincidence that we were taking breaks and walking the beach at the same time.”

  “Not really. Where else could we walk? You’ve been on your feet for hours. After I handed out the check for the winner, my duties were over,” Katie said.

  “I guess. But I have a bad feeling about this,” Lucy said.

  “It may be strange, but it’s true,�
�� Katie said. “And it’s not a crime.”

  They walked to the railing and looked down at the beach, but couldn’t see anything. Archie’s body, along with the police who were processing the scene, were under the boardwalk.

  A siren sounded and paramedics, followed by the county coroner, arrived. The wheels of a gurney rattled across the boards and the paramedics hurried down to the beach like a pack of rugby players. A short, compact man, with a white jacket that read COUNTY CORONER in big black letters, hurried past.

  Stan Slade pressed forward through the crowd. As soon as the reporter spotted Lucy and Katie, he cornered them against the railing. “What happened?”

  “We don’t know.” Lucy’s first response was denial. She didn’t trust the wily reporter. She suspected anything that came out of her mouth would end up on the front page of the Town News.

  “You honestly expect me to believe that? You two just came from the beach, and an officer is stationed at the top of the stairs prohibiting anyone from going down.”

  “How do you know? Have you been watching us?” Lucy asked.

  “I was looking for you to ask if there was anything else I should cover for the day. Despite what you are suggesting, I’m not a stalker,” Slade said. “Now I’ll ask again. What’s going on down there?”

  “Leave her alone. You’ll have to wait for the police to make a statement,” Katie said.

  Stan glared at them and stalked away to station himself at the railing. His camera was raised, ready at the slightest provocation.

  “I know this sounds horrible since a man was just murdered, but I’m afraid this doesn’t bode well for the festival,” Lucy said.

  Katie squeezed her hand. “Shh. We’ll talk later. Here comes Clemmons.”

  Lucy turned to see Detective Clemmons step onto the boardwalk and scan the crowd. He headed straight for them.

  Lucy’s stomach tightened. Clemmons disliked her family. Her sister, Emma, had dubbed him “Clinging Calvin” in high school, then had promptly cheated on him with his best friend. Definitely bad behavior on Emma’s behalf, but who would have thought Clemmons would still hold a grudge all these years later?

  Clemmons rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, then pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. He reached for a pencil from behind his ear. “Ladies, do either of you know who could have shot Archie?”