The Empty Chair ~ Murder in the Caribbean

by Penny Goetjen

  Feeling trapped inside the house, Olivia figured she had a better chance of defending herself if she was outside. She took one quick look at the bedside table and jerked it away from the window, just catching the lamp before it toppled over. Dressed in the t-shirt and shorts she had slept in, Olivia pushed open the window and shimmied out with the gun in her right hand, trying not to drop it or catch it on something. The bushes snapped as they broke her landing, branches poking her hair and scratching her arms and legs. After getting to her feet, she circled around to the front of the house, slipping stealthily to the side gallery, the gun dangling awkwardly to her side. She tightened her grip to prevent it from slipping. Her hand was starting to perspire as much from nerves as from the tropical heat.

  Parrots squawked in the trees above her as if they were aware of the tense situation. Creeping out into the side yard, she scanned the property as she moved, desperate to locate the man before he detected her. Olivia’s heart throbbed hard within her ribcage, echoing loudly inside her head. For a fleeting moment she questioned her sanity.

  What the hell was she doing? Never before had she held a gun, much less fired one, and now she was stalking someone outside her mother’s house, defending it with everything she had. Would she be able to shoot if she needed to? Her mind raced. Aim for the legs so he can’t run? His torso, to increase her chances of actually striking him? Her heart beat faster, her breathing was rapid and shallow.

  A couple more steps and the black male came into view. Her feet froze. The man was on the gallery at the back of the house peering through a window into the living area, both hands pressed against the glass, cupped around his eyes.

  Olivia took a couple of steps closer and raised the gun with both hands, pointing it toward him. “Hey!” she yelled in a loud gravelly voice even she didn’t recognize.

  The man spun around and looked stunned to see her standing there. “Uh . . .” he murmured.

  Struggling to maintain even breathing, she adjusted the gun to aim at his chest. “Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded, glaring at him. Her hands wavered as she struggled to hold the heavy firearm steady in her sweaty fingers.

  His hands slowly raised awkwardly into the air as if someone else was controlling them. His eyes were locked on the gun. “I’m . . . I’m Carson.”

  She imagined his eyes behind his sunglasses were nervously moving from the gun to her face and back again.

  “Take off the shades.” Her tone wasn’t welcoming.

  He pulled off his aviators, folded them against his chest with one hand and smoothly slipped them into the pocket of his polo shirt. Olivia immediately connected with his penetrating hazel eyes. Not what she had been expecting behind the tinted lenses. Their connection became uncomfortable. She blinked and averted her eyes.

  Olivia found him to be extremely attractive with handsome dark skin, upper arm muscles bulging out from underneath the short sleeves of his polo shirt and chest muscles hidden under the rest of his shirt.

  His arms drooped. The tension in his face eased. “You look just like her.” His voice was barely audible. A look of disbelief settled into the smooth skin of his face. “So familiar.” Then he repeated, more loudly, “You look just like her.”

  Olivia kept the gun pointed in his direction, but the muscles in her upper arms were starting to burn.

  “Is Liv your mother?” He had a lyrical island accent.

  “Who are you?” She held her glare. She wasn’t going to fall for his congenial chitchat. She wiggled the gun to remind him who was in charge.

  “I’m Carson. I’m a friend of Liv’s. A good friend,” he added for emphasis. “You must be her daughter, Olivia?”

  Unable to suppress a skeptical frown, Olivia knew he could have dug up the information online. Nothing was private anymore.

  “She speaks of you often. You’re as beautiful as she is.” He gazed tenderly toward her. “I assume that’s her gun.” He motioned with one of his raised hands toward the obvious firearm in her hand. “Found it under the mattress, I bet?”

  Olivia’s eyes flared. Lucky guess? She grew increasingly uncomfortable with how much he knew.

  “Look, you can put that down.”

  Olivia glared at him, not knowing if she should trust him. She had no idea who she was dealing with.

  “Unless you found the ammo in the cookie jar next to the kitchen sink, it probably isn’t loaded.”

  Olivia hadn’t thought that through, but there was one way to find out. Deciding to give it a try, she pointed the gun toward the ground and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was deafening and the small handgun recoiled. Olivia’s entire body jolted in response. Dirt displaced by the bullet sprayed out from the point of impact and a cloud of dust hovered momentarily before settling back down again. She glanced over to see her visitor straightening back up after apparently hitting the deck.

  Olivia’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. Carson’s eyes were just as large as hers and his arms were back up in the air. She turned the gun to its side to examine it more closely, wondering momentarily why there hadn’t been a safety on it for her to disengage. Was it not equipped with one or had it already been turned off?

  Although she had believed it was loaded before she fired, somehow firing the gun to confirm the fact made it seem much more dangerous. Carson appeared to feel the same way. A prudent person would have pointed it back at the intruder, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She pointed it, instead, in his general direction.

  “What are you doing here?” She wasn’t letting down her guard just yet.

  “Look, Olivia. I’ve been trying to catch up with your mother. I haven’t seen her in a while. I’ve been worried. She hasn’t answered her phone calls or texts. I’ve stopped by a few times over the last few days and her car wasn’t here.” He examined her face as if to see that his words were sinking in. “I knew she was busy with work, but it’s not like her to suddenly stop communicating. When I stopped by to check on her this morning, I saw her car and I thought she was back. Is she here?” He looked hopeful.

  Olivia was reluctant to reveal much. Although, the fact he was speaking about her mother in the present tense was encouraging. Trust, however, was still an issue.

  “She’s not here. No.” She held her expression steady and looked for a response from him.

  “Is she okay?” He looked genuinely concerned.

  Olivia softened toward her would-be intruder as she sensed perhaps he was harmless. It sounded as though he cared about her mother. Instinctively, she lowered the pistol and it dropped to her side.

  Her mother’s friend lowered his arms. He seemed to be feeling more comfortable she wasn’t going to blow off his head.

  Olivia started toward the gallery. It was time to meet Carson. Clumsily, she switched the gun to her left hand and extended her right hand to her visitor. He reached out over the railing and firmly grasped her hand, looking overly eager.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “So how do you know my mother?” She backed up again to put more space between herself and her new acquaintance, not willing to trust him completely. Not yet anyway.

  He closed his eyes as if recalling their time together. “We met on a photo shoot.”

  Olivia pictured him as a model on one of her mother’s assignments.

  “We just clicked.” He appeared uncomfortable explaining the relationship to Liv’s daughter and unsure of how far to go. “Olivia, we’ve had a lot of fun. Spent a lot of time together.”

  Olivia listened, taking it all in, realizing her mother’s relationship with this guy was more than a friendship. A corner of her mouth curled up as she estimated she was looking at a man who was easily ten to fifteen years younger than her mother. Atta girl, Mom. Way to go.

  “Olivia.” He stepped closer. “We were . . . uh, very close.”

  Olivia’s smile broadened. “You go, Mom,” she said under her breath. Her words were meant for her mother, whom she wished were n
earby. Although she was happy for her mother’s personal life, she refocused on more pressing matters.

  “What do you do here on the island? What do you do for work?” She gestured with the hand holding the gun. More information was necessary.

  “I have a water sport rental shop on the east end of the island in Red H—”

  A loud sound rang out that startled both Carson and Olivia. He fell back toward the house, hitting the side of it before sliding down and dropping onto the floor of the gallery with a thud.

  Olivia’s eyes grew wide. What had she done? Was she too wrapped up in their conversation to realize she had discharged her mother’s gun? Had her sweaty hands pulled the trigger inadvertently?

  “Oh God!” She ran to the gallery and knelt down next to Carson’s body. It was lifeless. Blood was everywhere.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Olivia stared down at the motionless, bloody body before her. Grabbing his shoulders, she rocked him gently. His eyes were shut. What had she done? “Carson! Oh my God.” She grabbed onto his right arm, searched for a pulse at his wrist but couldn’t find one. No! It couldn’t be. She shook her head violently back and forth in denial. Tiny puffs of air inward were all she could manage. “Carson!” She tried desperately to think straight, struggling to grasp she had shot him and needed to get help. Her trembling hand was still clinging to her mother’s gun. Carefully she laid it down on the floor as far away from her as she could, nudging it farther with a blood-covered hand. She had no business hanging onto it, being anywhere near it. She yanked her cell out of her pants pocket and frantically pressed buttons. Her blood soaked fingers slid across the face of the phone.

  In her haste to call for help, her fingers struck random buttons until a calm voice within her broke through and urged her to press 9-1-1. When she finally connected with the right numbers, a dispatcher kept her on the line to determine where she was located and what her situation was. Olivia’s head spun. It all seemed like a horrible dream.

  In an attempt to curtail blood loss, she pressed her hand against his wound just below his right shoulder, oblivious to the blood oozing out and covering her hands. An irrational thought crossed her mind that he wouldn’t be able to wear his shirt again. The colors . . . red . . . on pink . . . reminded her, in a twisted sort of way, of Valentine’s Day. She wondered if they had celebrated it together. Had they known each other that long?

  In the distance she heard sirens and didn’t connect that the emergency vehicles were heading toward her mother’s bungalow. She became dizzy and fought to stay conscious. Strong hands pulled her off the bloody mess she was hanging onto. People moved all around her. Talking. As they relocated her to a chair at the bistro table, the words that tumbled out of her mouth resembled a confession.

  “I didn’t mean to shoot him. I had just met him. My mother . . . oh, my mother will be angry. She never gets angry but . . . but she’ll be angry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Tell her I’m sorry.” Olivia was rambling, somewhat unintelligibly. Shock had set in.

  Voices. Words . . . were they speaking to her?

  “There’s a lot of blood on her. Is it his? Hers?”

  The world around her became a blur. She was being led away from the house. Someone gripped her upper arms tightly. There was pain somewhere in her body. Her feet were tripping over each other. They couldn’t move fast enough to keep up. She felt as though she was being dragged. Did someone pick her up? The door of some sort of vehicle opened, and she was guided into the back and someone fastened a restraint. She was being transported somewhere and couldn’t resist. Feeling the vehicle moving and the straps constraining her, she looked at her hands. They didn’t look quite right. She squinted in the dim light. They looked red. Was it blood? Was she hurt? Her head bobbed with the movement of the vehicle, swaying left or right with every turn. The vehicle stopped. The door next to her was yanked open. Someone pulled her out. Her legs were wobbly. Multiple hands reached out to steady her and escort her through the doors to the building. Lots of bright lights. An odd smell. Rubbing alcohol? Formaldehyde? She wrinkled her nose. It was an offensive odor. There were voices. Angry voices? Excited?

  She felt herself being lifted. Onto a table? More restraints. The table was moving. Long narrow lights above her moved too fast. It made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and could still feel herself moving. The sound of double doors opening. She tried to squirm but the restraints were tight. The table stopped. Another bright light overhead. Then darkness.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Olivia’s head felt fuzzy when she woke. Blinking her eyes, she tried to get a clearer picture of where she was and what was going on. Since the curtain near her was open, she was able to look across the room. It was long and narrow with beds on both sides against the long walls. Ivory-colored curtains hung from the ceiling on tracks encircling each bed. Some were completely closed. Others were partially open or drawn back all the way. The two beds on either side of her were empty. She was disappointed no one was there. No one to interrogate to find out where she was.

  Pain shot through her body. It originated from her left shoulder. She groaned quietly. This was something new.

  Voices at the other end of the room.

  Olivia tried to piece together what she could remember. Her mother’s friend at the house. They were talking. But she was holding a gun. A shot was fired and Carson dropped. Bloody mess. Everything after that was a blur. How did she get hurt? Probably from the officers handling her roughly to take her away from the crime scene.

  Olivia looked around her bed. There was an IV stand with a bag dripping into a tube. She followed the tube to the back of her left hand. That seemed extreme. Footsteps got closer.

  “Miss Benning.”

  Her body jolted at the sound of her name. “. . . Yes?” She squinted slightly to scrutinize the man with dark skin and graying, short-cropped hair standing at the foot of her bed.

  “How are you feeling?” The man was dressed in a white lab coat. He wore round, black, plastic-rimmed glasses that made him look almost childish. Perhaps his objective was to look younger than he felt. The shape of his eyes suggested an Asian background. She couldn’t make out the name on his tag, but it looked like it had MD after it.

  “I’m fine,” she asserted, ignoring the stabbing pain in her shoulder.

  The doctor chuckled to himself. “That’s good to hear. Do you have any idea what just transpired . . . why you’re here?”

  Olivia didn’t feel comfortable revealing anything just yet. She tried on a “deer in the headlights” look.

  Again he chuckled.

  Not appreciating his sense of humor, she served up one of her standard glares she dished out when she was particularly annoyed. Movement from the other side of the room distracted her attention away from the doctor.

  A policeman strode confidently across and approached the doctor. Even though they spoke in hushed voices, she overheard him asking if he could have a word with her.

  Olivia cringed. What she had done back at the house was, well, reprehensible. It was disgusting. How could she live with herself after that? She shuddered to think of the consequences. Even though she had no intention of it turning out the way it did, the fact of the matter was a man had been shot down in cold blood and she was responsible.

  The doctor nodded once, clearing the officer to speak with Olivia, but lingered nearby, maintaining a position of authority.

  The policeman stepped around to the left side of her bed and hovered over her. “Miss Benning, I’m Detective Benson. I need to ask you a few questions.”

  He was a big burly black man who could have been a linebacker for a professional football team. No one was going to get past him that he didn’t want to let by. His rhythmic accent revealed he was probably native to the island, at least to the Caribbean. He towered over her, making her feel vulnerable, almost threatened. There was a slight odor of perspiration emanating from his body as if he had just come in from spending time outside in the hot sun
.

  She looked into his deep brown eyes under bushy graying eyebrows, fearful of what was in store for her. “Okay.”

  He proceeded to ask about Carson and why he was at her house.

  She didn’t like how the conversation was developing. “He said he was a friend of my mother’s. Hadn’t seen her in a while and was hoping to catch up with her.” She was trying to sound as matter-of-fact as she could.

  He wanted to know if her mother owned a gun.

  Yeah, the one you undoubtedly found lying next to me.

  “Apparently she does. Guess she feels she might need to protect herself.” She deliberately kept references to her mother in the present tense. She didn’t feel the need to do otherwise.

  Then he asked about the caliber.

  Who knows what caliber it is!

  “I have no idea. I don’t know much about guns,” she answered, keeping a cool, calm demeanor.

  “Except how to point and shoot them.” The detective narrowed his eyes.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  He had her red-handed. There was no getting away with this. It was an accident and she’d had no intention of firing the gun. But she shouldn’t have had it in her hands.

  The detective turned to walk away and then stopped. He turned back toward her. “One more question. How many gunshots do you recall hearing?”

  Olivia furrowed her brow. “I heard one shot.”

  One shot out of my gun!

  He appeared to be considering her answer carefully and then turned away again, walking the rest of the way across the room and disappearing through a doorway with an illuminated exit sign above it. The door slammed shut behind him.

  The doctor stepped forward toward the end of her bed. Their eyes met.

  “So, how are you feeling? How’s your shoulder?”

  She was not in the mood for chitchat. “I’m fine,” she repeated. Her voice was calm but assertive.

  “Good to hear. You were lucky. Could have been a lot worse. Should heal quickly. I gave you a sedative so you could rest and start the healing process. Good to see you’re awake. We’re going to keep you here for—” Without warning, the large room turned dim. The electricity had gone out. Window coverings and the curtains surrounding the beds kept most of the natural light from filtering in. “Damn! Not again.” He slammed his clipboard onto the foot of her bed and turned to attend to the more urgent matter.