Dog Gone And Dead

by Colleen Mooney

  The commercial fleet started right after the party boat slips. The fish smell got stronger. Many were cleaning their daily catch to sell to restaurants or places that sold fresh seafood. As we left the commercial fishing boat end of the pier we walked into and around a parking lot to pick up the marina again. This time the boats looked to be privately owned sailboats and motor yachts. I smelled new fiberglass and canvas. The fish smell was gone unless the wind changed direction.

  “Well, check this out,” Jiff said stopping in front of a Hatteras all tricked out with every navigational instrument on the fly bridge. It had a new boat shine going on and the name across the stern was Big Al’s World Famous Fishing Boat. There were dock boxes all along both sides of the pier behind every boat.

  “Does Big Al own anything that’s not world famous?” I asked as we both stood there looking at the very big, very expensive hole his boat made in the water.

  We continued to walk to the end of the private pier past more power or sailboats both large and small. We stopped at the end to admire the marina in all its calmness.

  “How come we’ve never heard of all this world famous-ness?” I pulled out my cell and Googled ‘Big Al, Destin, Florida’. Then I clicked on his website and showed Jiff what scrolled up.

  Big Al also seemed to be world famous for a string of fishing charters up and down the gulf coast from Bay St. Louis to Panama City. Then I Googled the Secretary of State in Florida for the owner’s complete name.

  “Jess said his real name is Al Flashpole. With a name like Flashpole I could see why he went with Big Al,” I said.

  “Of course, Flashpole might be helpful if he was in the strip club business,” Jiff mused.

  “Hang on to that thought,” I said. I looked up all businesses owned in Florida by Al Flashpole and Voila! A string of fitness centers and strip clubs popped up along the gulf coast from Mississippi to Florida, in the same cities the fishing charter boats were docked. There was a new one in Slidell, Louisiana, not far from Bay St. Louis and on the water. Bars, boats, strip clubs and gyms. My mind was spinning.

  “What are you thinking?” Jiff asked. “I’m wondering how they all connect.”

  “Yeah, now you’re curious too? They connect, but I’m not seeing it yet,” I said.

  “You know, I think we ought to call Jess’s friend, that lady cop, the one we met on the beach. She might be a little more forthcoming with the Abby and Ashley story and have the time to tell us. Jess is clearly afraid to say too much in that place,” Jiff said and looked around to see who might be in hearing distance. It seemed like we were all alone. We didn’t see anyone on any of the yachts.

  “If I had a big boat like one of these, I’d be on it every spare second,” he said. Then he added, “With you. What’s your favorite type boat?”

  “I like all boats, but I love sailboats,” I answered him. “I think I could live on a sailboat.”

  “Big boats like Daniel has?” he asked.

  Smiling, I answered him, “Any size or any kind of boat as long as I’m on it… with you.”

  He pulled me to him and we kissed out at the end of the pier where no one was around but we could be seen from a long way off. It felt very private, but it was anything but. The marina was super-wide at this point and went from a channel to an open area like a cul-de-sac in neighborhoods. This was a huge cul-de-sac for slips and all around the perimeter of the marina were three to eight story condo buildings or apartments. There were many windows from which spying eyes could see us at the end of this pier, no matter how alone we felt.

  As we strolled back down the pier heading back to our car, I stopped abruptly.

  “What’s up?” Jiff turned to see why I was standing still.

  “Look at what’s stenciled on Big Al’s dock box and on the pier behind his boat,” I said pretending to rummage in my purse. I pulled out a tissue.

  “Yeah, it’s DMH108. Why does that number look like we’ve seen it somewhere before?”

  “We have, and very recently,” I said and pretended to blow my nose. It felt like an icy cold finger running down my back.

  DMH108 was painted on three sides of the dock box. You couldn’t miss it. There was one on the walkway side, and one on each side facing up and down the pier. The box was made up of two separate sides, one large one with a combo lock and a smaller side that could hold a gym or duffle bag with a key lock. When I looked around at the other dock boxes, some just had numbers or no markings whatsoever. Each boat slip had a number stenciled in yellow paint on the concrete pier. They all started with DMH for Destin Marina Harbor with the number of the slip each boat was docked in.

  “Jiff, in case someone is watching let’s look like lovers. Kiss me and look over my shoulder at that number on Big Al’s dock box,” I barely whispered to him.

  Jiff was quick to accommodate my request by nibbling my ear and saying, “I know where we’ve seen it. It’s on one of those flash drives.”

  “Yes. Don’t say anything else until we get to the car. Let’s just keep walking and stopping a little on our way back. Anyone could be watching us out here.”

  We strolled back down that pier hand in hand to the car.

  Going over in my head, I wondered what do we really know? We found a dead woman who we think lost her dog. We went on a sailing cruise where we found the dog and then the muggers tried to take him. The sister found us—the living sister of the dead person doesn’t want the dog but surrenders him to rescue. We now know the number on Big Al’s dock box matches a number on that flash drive. It’s the same number on a key the two at the bar reclaimed according to Jess.

  “I’m having trouble seeing how it all adds up, but I know it does, don’t you?” I asked Jiff once we were in the car.

  Jiff was sitting behind the wheel with his arms crossed. He bumped his fist on his chin. This was his processing mode. His eyes were moving around and I waited until he was ready to deliver some output. The chin bumping accelerated.

  “I got nothing,” he finally said.

  “Let’s go back to the condo. I’m sure Rascal needs to take a walk by now.”

  “Tomorrow, I think we need to talk to that lady cop you made friends with,” he said. “After we walk Rascal, I’m taking you for a romantic stroll on the beach.”

  Our romantic stroll on the beach was a rehash of what we knew. Jiff brought it up. I’m usually the one who can’t let go of the puzzle until I find an answer. He’s just as bad since, as a criminal attorney, he has to try to figure out who else might have done it if he wants to get his client off the hook. It was refreshing to work with someone like him to try to figure it out. He always respected my input and even if he disagreed with me, he explained why and sometimes he changed his mind back to my way of thinking.

  “So, let’s think about what we know or think we know,” he said. “We find a girl dead on the beach, with a dog leash around her wrist and the leash lets us know the dog’s name is Rascal. We find the dog, coincidentally, with the name Rascal on the collar that matches the leash the same evening we take a sunset sail and I know the owner of the boat. Daniel is jumped by the same two at the bar. They were trying to take the dog. Then you find those flash drives. One of the entries on the flash drive matches a boat slip number to some local businessman here.”

  “Yes. I’m glad we found Rascal. But what’s bothering me is the course of events after we found him. If we had been five minutes late, those two guys who mugged Daniel would have taken him,” I said.

  Jiff added, “How did they find Rascal at that boat? His owner was killed at least twenty miles from that marina even if he did say he went into Fort Walton or Destin to pick up parts.”

  “How did those two guys come to your condo in your building knowing we had Rascal? Who knew we had him? The couple on the boat who helped us, Daniel, you, me. The police? Harbormaster?” I asked out loud. I had more questions than either of us had answers.

  “If the gal we met this morning is Abby and not Ashley, why d
idn’t she want her dog back or at least to see him and make sure he wasn’t hurt? The fact that she didn’t—if it was her dog—is kinda bothering me, but I’m just glad he’s with us in a safe place. If it really was Ashley, why didn’t she want to see her sister’s dog to make sure he was not harmed, and why didn’t she want to keep him? It seems like the sort of thing you would do for your sister who was murdered—take care of her pet as a connection.”

  “Yeah, I’d want to see Isabella one last time. I’d have to confirm she was not hurt if I was letting her go to another home, or if someone close to me was killed and she was their dog. We’ve not paid attention to the dead girl or why someone wanted her dead. The sister who found us, and how did she do that by the way? She told us the ex-husband in New York did it. She didn’t mention the flash drives and didn’t really ask us anything. She wanted to surrender the dog to us, officially,” I said.

  “She wanted us to think it’s the ex-husband who did it? She implied the ruthless ex-husband who left Abby penniless could be connected,” Jiff said putting air quotes around connected.

  “You know what I’m wondering? What if the one we met this morning is Abby, the one from New York who owns the dog and she wants us to believe she is the dead sister, Ashley? Could this be her own version of witness protection?”

  “Well, yes, that might explain some of it, but not all. I say we get her investigated. I’ll call my office tomorrow and get one of the researchers on it,” Jiff said pulling me close to him as the waves licked at our ankles.

  “We could use Facebook to see what preliminary information we can find and if we hit a snag, then you can make the call. Although it would be easier on a laptop instead of my iPhone.”

  “I thought you might say that so I sent a text to Tom, my assistant. I asked him to have my personal laptop couriered over here tomorrow morning unless he finds a way to get it here sooner,” Jiff said.

  I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a big hug.

  “We make a good team don’t you think?” he said.

  “I think we do. Now, let’s enjoy this moonlight walk on the beach while we wait on that laptop,” I said. I pulled Jiff’s arm around my neck and shoulders leaning into him under his arm as we walked in the wet sand along the water’s edge.

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you awake?” Jiff asked me. We were both still in bed, staying very still as to not wake the other.

  “No, I’m sound asleep,” I answered him. “I’m surprised you’re awake.”

  It was six-thirty a.m., and we had a long day yesterday. Rascal was sleeping in the king-size bed with us. He was on my side, above my head, on my pillow, against the headboard, like I was sleeping with a hat on.

  “Well, wake up, Blondie,” Jiff teased calling me a name he knew made me crazy. He rolled over on his side to face me lying on my back staring at the ceiling. “Because this is our last day here unless we extend our stay a day, which I can do.” He tweaked my nose as he got out of bed. “C’mon, you’re usually on Marine Time, not me.”

  “Marine Time?”

  “Marines get more done by eight a.m., than most people do all day. It could be your motto ’cuz I don’t want to see you joining the Marines. Their mandatory haircut would not look good on you.”

  “It’s Monday. I’ll call and extend my time off by a day or two. I have meetings at the end of the week I have to be back for,” I said rolling out of bed but letting Rascal sleep in. “I know this is not the relaxing trip you wanted for us.”

  “I don’t know. I need my mind sharp to keep up with you. Besides, this is more exciting than lying around worrying about getting sunburned,” he said. “Did you see those people who got off the Banana Boat?”

  That made me laugh.

  “Call that lady cop and I’ll check with Tom and see when to expect my laptop,” Jiff said throwing on a pair of shorts.

  He rummaged through the closet for a shirt and then decided a polo was a better idea. Jiff had a swimmer’s body, tall, lean but muscular in all the right places. He had a six pack for a stomach and was never impressed with his own good looks. His down-to-earth personality was refreshing and a reflection of the way he was raised. His parents were wealthy, and adopted all of their six children, Jiff was the oldest. They were so kind and generous you wished you could clone them to be everyone’s parents, particularly your own.

  “Let’s go lay by the pool or walk on the beach for a while. It’s early and I doubt the officer will be in yet and I bet that computer doesn’t arrive before nine o’clock. Besides, I want to see you without a shirt for a little while longer,” I said.

  The morning walk on the beach was rife with shells. They were rolling in with the waves. I’d spot a beautiful shell and would grab it before the outgoing wave would pull it away. There were tons of shells beached from the previous tide coming in and depositing them along the sand where I could see them. I could not stop myself from picking one up every few steps and checking out its beauty.

  “You’re like my mother,” Jiff said.

  This was a huge relief that he didn’t say I was like my mother. “How so?” “She can’t stop herself from picking up shells and seeing if they deem worthy of saving. The thing is, she deems all the ones she picks up worthy of saving. That’s why every container in our condo is overflowing with shells. Didn’t you notice? If you start opening cabinets you will find jars, bags, containers of shells in all of them. My Dad said if she keeps collecting them we might have to leave the condo to the shells and move out here on the beach. I brought you something,” he said and pulled a plastic bag you get at a grocery from the back pocket of his shorts. “I knew you’d pick them up and now you have a place to put them.”

  Jiff constantly surprised me with his thoughtfulness. “Thanks,” I said and put the shell in the plastic grocery bag he was holding out. “See, now your Mom and I have something in common.”

  “When I was a kid, she told me she had been fascinated by shells her entire life. Now, I must tell you, my mother also says you’ll be a slave to collecting once you pick up the first one and save it. She says she just can’t stop herself.” He took the bag from me and held it up. “I’ll hold the bag so you can use two hands to search.”

  I had already bent my knees and was searching a mound of shells with both hands. I found a fascinating white shell that I once heard called a Baby’s Ear. It was a soft white on white and had circling bands of soft white did look like a baby’s ear.

  We stayed on the beach while I looked for shells and Jiff held the plastic collection bag for me to put my finds in. I’d see him pull out one I just put in the bag to observe more closely. Sometimes he would just say “Hmm,” or he might offer the name of the shell. We, correction, I looked for shells for about an hour and a half, while Jiff followed along beside me. He never complained. Sometimes he’d point out one that he thought looked interesting. I always picked it up and put it in the bag. When he suggested we head in to call the lady cop and check for deliveries, I couldn’t believe we’d been out here so long.

  “I guess I like this a lot more than I imagined,” I said. I couldn’t help myself from stopping to pick up something that looked interesting as we made our way across the sand back to the walkway over the dunes. “You seem to know the names of more shells than I do. Perhaps, you’re a little more into shelling than you care to admit.”

  “I couldn’t help learning the names when I was a kid. My mom would clean them, line them all up to dry and then tell us names of the ones she knew. I liked doing it with her. My brothers didn’t and my sister was just a baby,” he said.

  Jiff started to clean the shells I collected while I went and took my shower.

  By the time we showered and dressed it was almost nine o’clock. My job was to continue to take the shells out of the cleaning solution and place them on paper towels to dry. Jiff was in the shower when I heard a knock on the door. It was Jiff’s assistant who drove over from New Orleans with his laptop. Boy, I nee
ded an assistant like Tom. He unboxed it, plugged it in and had it booting up when Jiff came out dressed.

  “Mr. Heinkel, I couldn’t find a courier that would get your computer here this early and I was afraid they might damage it. I drove it over and brought your printer if you want that too?” Tom said when he saw Jiff.

  “I know I would benefit from seeing some of this printed out,” I said to Jiff. Part of my gift in life was seeing the similarities or discrepancies in things. I worked for a major telecom company in the fraud prevention unit. I found irregular patterns in calling/phone records for companies. I used computers sometimes, but finding something out of place, visually, was my thing. I was good at it. Jiff nodded to Tom, and he hurried off to bring up the printer and paper he had in the car.

  “Tom, thanks for driving this over. We could’ve waited another hour or so for a courier,” Jiff said as he helped him set up the printer and computer.

  Tom accepted a cup of coffee and stayed long enough to make sure everything was working and Jiff didn’t need his help with anything further. Then he got ready to drive back to New Orleans.

  Rascal came running out to bark at Tom when he finally decided to wake up.

  “Jiff, do you think we should send Rascal back with Tom?” I asked him. “Those two guys have tried to take him twice, once from Daniel at his boat, and then from here. Maybe three times if you count the morning of the murder. What if we stay another day and get tied up somewhere? I don’t want to leave him all day locked up in here and who can we trust to walk him?”