If I ever get the time, she thought, I’ll see what I can do to make more of an effort to connect with people. Maybe I’ll take some classes.
One of the benefits of early morning walks was that it gave her a chance to clear her mind and do some thinking. It had been two days since the scuffle at the farmers market and she was just now feeling like she’d recovered. She’d gotten some bruises and strains when she’d fallen on Anderson Bowles, but there was more to it than that. The memory of the confrontation and her fear over having to go into the police station and give her side of the story had definitely brought back memories of when her landscapers had found a dead body in her garden and she’d had to deal with the police. She still had occasional nightmares from the experience.
It wasn’t that she minded dealing with the police. Well, especially the local sheriff’s office. Her new friend, Detective James Landon, was tall and smart and easy on the eyes, and she enjoyed his dry sense of humor. More than once she’d burst out laughing at some passing comment he’d made, the laugh lines around his sea-green eyes crinkling even as he tried to keep a straight face. After everything that had happened when she first moved to Ravenwood Cove she had really needed a friend like him, who could give her some advice when the murder investigation bogged down or who could explain the terms in an autopsy report. The fact that he was a tall, good-looking man with a head of crisp dark hair and who looked great in a pair of Wranglers and cowboy boots had nothing to do with it.
Well, almost.
Amanda scanned the beach, pulling a bag out of her coat pocket. Tomorrow she’d be back on the beach, keeping up her weekly routine of secretly digging holes and hiding seashells and glass floats for the kids to discover later. The treasures she buried had helped put the little town back on the map again, with an influx of new visitors hoping to find their own discoveries in the sand. A local glass artist, thrilled to have more business, had started blowing multi-colored glass spheres, charging only for the cost of materials. The city council was happy to pay, knowing that every time a news story was printed that told about the fun discoveries people were finding in their little town, there was a surge of business for the mom and pop shops that made up Ravenwood Cove.
On days when Amanda wasn’t digging holes and hiding goodies, she’d started carrying a bag for collecting litter. After seeing Mrs. Granger using a tool that was a long tube with a handle on one end and a set of gripping pincers on the other, she’d bought one for herself and used it for picking up trash. She appreciated not having to stoop over to get it, and sometimes not even having to slow down from her morning walk. It was amazing how much trash could wash up overnight, and she was happy to do this small task to make her new hometown more beautiful.
The cove was quieter than the open shore, protected by a curved peninsula of huge, dark rocks that held the pale sand in place, and several tall dunes that helped muffle the wind. Even when waves were crashing on the side toward the ocean, the lapping water on the bayside would be much more calm, and today was a perfect illustration of that. The only evidence that anyone had been up before her was there was just one boat tied to the main pier. The rest of the fishing enthusiasts knowing that getting out early on a nice fall day gave them the best chance at a big catch, and plenty of time to set out crab pots.
Amanda kept scanning the sand, finding bits of yellow rope and a beer bottle that she tucked into her trash bag. She enjoyed the long walk and took her normal route, from the edge of cove by the main pier all the way around the bay and toward the small dock. It wasn’t used anymore because it had been left to rot years ago, the new pier made it much easier to get gear and fish in and out of the boats, and certainly much safer.
It wasn’t until her small bag was nearly full and she walked past the front edge of the old dock that something caught her eye. Bobbing in the water on the far side of the wooden walkway was a small fishing boat, rubbing against the pilings. It was unusual to see anyone using that dock because Amanda knew that George, the police chief, had personally strung up the warning signs about not playing on the structure and that he’d asked the city council for funds to have the dock removed since it was no longer a necessity and he considered it a public hazard. As Amanda walked closer she could see the painted boat’s rope dockline hanging over the side and dragging in the water. No one had tied the rope to the cleats or the pilings, and it looked like the boat was just floating there.
That was definitely unusual. No boat owner would ever leave a boat untied like that, knowing that tides and currents could push a vessel away from the shore easily. Amanda tried to think of reasons it wouldn’t be secured to the dock but couldn’t come up with a single one, unless the high tide had carried it into the cove on its own.
Deciding to check it out, she set her trash bag and pincer tool down, using a nearby rock to hold the lightweight bag in place against the wind. The dock was long and straight, or as straight as such old, weathered wood could be, and Amanda had to take a few extra moments to figure out how to climb up the rickety stairs without putting her foot through the rotting boards. Watching her step, she carefully skirted obviously worn areas and headed toward the bobbing boat.
She was about twenty feet away when she was just close enough to see inside the back part of the open dory.
There was a naked foot, and a naked leg, lying in the bottom.
Amanda’s heart hammered in her chest. There was a person lying in the boat, apparently face down. As Amanda took the last few steps forward to see the full interior, she silently prayed that she’d stumbled across some drunk sleeping off the effects of a really fun evening with a big bottle of booze, but as soon as she was able to see everything, she knew something was terribly, evilly wrong.
There was a man lying in the boat. He was face down, and he was stark naked. His skin was so pale that it almost looked like he’d been carved from wax, and there were purple marks near anywhere his body touched the wooden bottom of the boat. One of his arms was thrown up over his hand, nearly touching the one piece of clothing that he had, a sweatshirt that had been wadded up like a turban and stuck on his head like a horrible party hat.
Amanda gulped in the clean sea air and mustered every bit of courage she had. She leaned over as far as possible and could just catch the dripping wet rope tied to the front of the boat, pulling it hand over hand until she had enough out of the water that she could tie it securely to the dock. The moving waves made it a bit tricky to time when to get in the rocking boat, but Amanda waited until she could ease herself across the bow. She had to check and see if the man was alive or dead, and she knew that if he needed immediate help she shouldn’t wait on an ambulance or the police to do that. His outstretched arm was only a few feet from the front of the boat, and the instant Amanda touched the cold, still wrist, searching for a pulse, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to do anything for the man at her feet.
Backing out of the boat and pulling herself onto the splintered edge of the dock, Amanda unzipped the pocket in her windbreaker and pulled out her phone. Her fingers were trembling when she punched in the phone number.
“Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “My name’s Amanda Graham, and I think I just found a dead body down at the Cove.”
Chapter 4
An hour before, the entire beach at the cove had been deserted. Amanda looked in dismay at the huge number of people who were now were swarming around the end of the old dock, all trying to catch a glimpse of the dead body within it. A single phone call to the local emergency dispatcher had brought the ambulance and police, as well as local residents who liked to scan the emergency radio channels to hear what was going on in their small town. The morning fishing fleet, just returning from their early trips out of the cove, were obviously confused by the gathering crowd milling around their normally-quiet beach but they stayed to watch the excitement.
Truman had been one of the first people to arrive, his small dog Benny pant
ing as he raced alongside Truman’s bike. At Amanda’s quiet request Truman stationed himself at the end of the dock, calmly talking to anyone who wanted to walk closer for a look-see at the boat, and telling them that until the cops arrived and said what they wanted done the dock was off-limits.
Amanda saw several people she knew in the crowd, including her neighbors the Hendersons and her guest Richard Loomis, but she stayed where she was on the pier, knowing that she would almost certainly be questioned about her discovery. Lisa came jogging across the sand with her camera in hand, obviously in full reporter mode, but as soon as she saw Amanda she skidded to a stop. She talked quickly to Truman and apparently didn’t like his statement that she’d have to stay back with the others, but finally stepped back toward the gathering crowd, her face reflecting her disgruntlement.
The paramedics were the first officials to arrive, but once they had decided there was nothing more they could do for the dead man they quickly scrambled out of the boat and waited for the local cops to show up, one of them heading over to help Truman control the crowd. Amanda didn’t know any of them very well, but she’d gratefully accepted the folded up blanket one of them had provided for her to sit on. The old pier was full of rusty nails and long splinters, and it was nice to have a safe place to sit.
Well, as safe as it could be, considering that a dead man was still lying face down just a few feet away from her. She’d known George Ortiz and his police officers would show up, but she was surprised at how little time it took for James Landon, a detective with the local sheriff’s department, to drive across the sand in his unmarked patrol car. He was there within ten minutes of the call over the radio, leaping out of his car with impatience and heading right for the still-docked boat. He gave a couple quick instructions to George’s officers, probably requesting they move the crowd back so no one could hear the conversations on the dock or see in the untouched boat, because the police officers began stringing a line of crime scene tape between their cars and ushering people back toward the dunes.
James nodded in curt greeting to Amanda as he strode by but his focus was entirely on the possible crime scene. A few seconds of quiet conversation with George Ortiz and he left the police chief standing by the boat, heading back toward Amanda.
“How come whenever there’s a dead body in town, you seem to be nearby?” He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.
“Yeah, like that’s my plan. I’m just trying to be part of the action in this town, don’t ya know.”
James plopped down next to her. “I thought you were just making sure you’d get a chance to see me.” His grin was infectious and Amanda hesitated, trying to assess if he was just teasing her or actually flirting.
“Yeah, that must be it. Find a dead guy, make sure you show up,” she deadpanned, playing along.
James swung his feet back and forth a bit, and Amanda peered over the edge of the wooden walkway. “You always wear your cowboy boots to a police investigation, Detective?”
“Always. I can run after bad guys faster in these than I can in tennis shoes. I just hate having to put those little fabric booties on ‘em for the CSI guys.” His voice turned serious. “You okay?”
She thought for a moment before she answered. “Yeah, I am. I just didn’t expect to discover all this on my morning walk, that’s all.”
There was an awkward moment of silence and Amanda thought back to the last time she’d seen James, at Mr. Peetman’s funeral.
“So, now you’re talking to me?” She kept her face neutral, even though she was dying to hear his explanation of his cranky mood. “What was the deal at the reception? I thought we were friends.”
The tall detective sighed and looked down at the water below them. “You should’ve told me about Mr. Peetman being in town, Amanda. Someone just walking away from federal witness protection is a serious matter, and you never said a word to me about discovering his true identity.” He turned to her, more frustration than anger in his expression. “He could’ve been lying to you and been a dangerous criminal. Don’t you trust me?”
She shrugged, sorry she’d upset him but not sorry for her actions. “You’re a detective for the sheriff’s office. I thought you’d have to turn him in.” When James opened his mouth to rebut her statement she raised a hand and cut him off.
“He’s the one who hit Charles Timmins in the head with a shovel, not me.” She saw the realization sink in, James’ eyebrows going up in sudden understanding. “He saved my life that day. When I was running away from Charles, Mr. Peetman was the one who stopped him.” She shifted a bit, remembering. “I felt I owed him a debt of gratitude for what he did, that’s all. After I met with him and discovered his secret I could tell he was sincere about being sick and not having much time left. If I’d thought he was a threat to anyone, I would’ve reported him, I promise.”
“So you lied on your police statement, too.”
“So sue me.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Look, I just don’t want to have to arrest you!”
He put a broad, warm hand on her shoulder, and seemed about to say something, when a dark van and a small SUV was let through the police line, obviously heading toward the dock.
“Crime scene crew, probably with the medical examiner,” he said to her unasked question, and stood to meet the investigators, all business once again. Amanda watched him as he talked to the two men who got out of the van, walking them over to the bobbing boat and giving them what little information he already knew. A shorter, baby-faced man emerged from the SUV, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and following behind James’ broad back. Within minutes the crime scene team was examining and photographing everything in the interior of the boat, while the medical examiner stood on the dock, smoking a pipe while he watched his colleagues work. George went to oversee crowd control and James was busy helping the investigation team, carefully bagging up evidence and looking for fibers and clues.
Amanda was close enough she could hear a lot of the back and forth conversation between the police and the investigation team. One of George’s younger officers came over to get Amanda’s statement, his face serious as he carefully wrote down everything she said, which wasn’t much. Amanda understood why they’d need to know how’d she’d discovered the body and every detail of what had happened, but all she could really say was that she’d seen the boat, looked inside, checked for a pulse, and called the cops.
At least giving her statement gave her something to do. It took quite a while for them to process the scene, including photos and dusting the gunnels and outboard motor handle for fingerprints. Even though she was told that she could go home she enjoyed watching them work. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, but she’d never seen James managing an investigation before and just seeing how he made sure that every bit of data was cataloged and discussed was fascinating. Finally, they seemed to be satisfied with all the evidence they’d collected.
“Got everything you need?” James asked. The crime scene investigator closest to him hesitated, looking around as he seemed to make a mental inventory of what they’d done and, finally satisfied, nodded. George and James stepped down into the boat as the investigator moved toward the back, trying to keep the rocking to a minimum.
The two officers knelt down and once they’d slid their hands under the shoulder of the dead man James locked eyes with the police chief. At his silent nod they rolled the stiff body over.
When she saw the dead man’s face Amanda gasped. Even with the purple marks, she recognized it instantly. The last time she’d seen it was at the market, flushed with anger and yelling at the police chief.
It was Anderson Bowles, mouth frozen in surprise, body rigid in death. George tossed a towel over the lower part of Anderson’s lap and Amanda was surprised at how relieved she felt. Even though Anderson Bowles had been stalking her friend, a square of terrycloth covering his naked body seemed like it preserved a bit of his human dignity. Amanda wasn’t a prude bu
t maybe even a rude creep deserved some modesty in death.
James and George looked over the body, and the baby-faced medical examiner, still smoking on the dock, peered into the boat. “Probably a heart attack,” he pronounced as he tapped his pipe on his heel, knocking the last bit of tobacco into the water. The investigator gestured for a plastic bag and carefully removed the sweatshirt wrapped around Anderson Bowles’ head, sealing the top of the bag with a practiced swipe of his hand.
“Heart attack, huh?” James asked, not even trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice. “When’s the last time you saw a heart attack victim strip naked and make his own shirt into a hat? And when have you ever seen anyone out in a boat with no fishing gear or cooler, and no food or water?”
George was seemingly only listening halfway to their conversation, his gaze fixed on the side of the boat, just below the top edge. “Yeah, and if he’s had a heart attack, why would there be a bullet hole in the boat?”
James instantly stepped over to George’s side, trying to keep balanced as the fishing vessel rocked with his shifted weight. He and George started scanning the rest of the boat until James made another discovery.
“And why would there be a bullet lodged in the outboard motor?” He pointed carefully to an indentation near the bottom of the small engine, the dark hole and buried bullet nearly hidden by the silver decal around it.
The medical examiner was quiet, his initial theory completely shot down. George and James exchanged a knowing glance, and the police chief said what both of them were thinking.
DUNE, DOCK, and a DEAD MAN: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery Page 3