The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 2

by Elaine Viets

  “Let me,” he said. “You carry the paddle.”

  Helen found it hard to trudge through the trash-littered sand on this part of the beach.

  “I’m dreading the hospital,” she said.

  “Me, too,” Phil said. “I don’t think we’re going to get good news.”

  At last they reached Sunny Jim’s. Helen helped Phil lean the sandy boards and paddles against the trailer. “I’ll hose these down and lock up,” he said. “We’ll take Ceci’s stuff to Daniel at the hospital.”

  “Let me turn in my beach lounge,” Helen said. “I should take Daniel’s back, too.”

  Helen dropped both lounges at the rental kiosk. Then she gathered Daniel’s book, sunscreen and rolled-up towel. When she grabbed the towel, a white card slipped out. She picked it up off the sand.

  “Riggs Pier Bait Shop,” the card read. “On beautiful Riggs Pier. No fishing license required on the pier.”

  The card had tide tables for May 2013, with high-tide dates and times and strong-tide warnings. One warning was for ten twenty-six a.m. today. The time was circled.

  That was when Ceci went paddleboarding. Alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Ceci’s dead,” Helen said to Phil.

  Sunny Jim didn’t have to tell them. Helen knew by looking at him.

  He sat alone in the ER waiting room at Riggs Beach General, isolated by an almost visible cloud of shock and sorrow. The room’s fluorescent lights gave his tanned skin a greenish tinge—unless the news of Ceci’s death had caused that color. The TV blared overhead, but Jim stared at nothing. He clutched his chair’s wooden arms as if he needed to cling to them to save himself.

  Helen and Phil sat on either side of him.

  “Jim,” Phil said. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” Jim’s voice was as flat and colorless as the tile floor. “Ceci’s dead. The doctors couldn’t revive her. The ER doctor said it was a blessing because she would have been brain damaged. A blessing? She’s dead! Why do people say stuff like that?”

  “I guess they assume she’d want a full life,” Helen said.

  Jim slammed one callused fist on the chair. “She’s dead and it’s all my fault.”

  “Quiet,” Phil said. “Ceci’s death isn’t your fault. If you have to blame someone, it’s Ceci. She insisted on going into the ocean after one lesson. You told her the wind was dangerous and she dismissed your warning. She went paddling in a forbidden area—where you told her not to go.”

  “Her husband should share that responsibility,” Helen said. “He said the life jacket made her look fat and she took it off. Where is Daniel, by the way?”

  Jim nodded at the oak double doors marked EMERGENCY ROOM—NO ADMITTANCE.

  “Inside there,” Jim said. “He asked to be alone with his wife after she was pronounced dead. Becky, one of the ER nurses, is a friend. She’s been keeping tabs on him. Becky checked on me about ten minutes ago. She says the staff is disgusted by his behavior.”

  “What did he do?” Helen asked.

  “He didn’t cry or even act sorry,” Jim said.

  “Maybe he’s in shock,” Phil said.

  “Becky says a lot of men don’t cry, and shock makes some people numb or confused. Daniel just looked at his wife, then asked for a place to make calls. Becky took him to the family lounge and offered him juice and graham crackers. When she came back with his apple juice and crackers, he was on his cell phone talking to a lawyer. That was his first call! She heard him say, ‘So do I have grounds for a wrongful death suit?’ Becky came straight out to tell me. She says she’s seen people more upset when their dog died.”

  “Do you have liability insurance?” Phil asked.

  “Five million dollars,” Jim said.

  “That much?” Phil raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “I have to,” Jim said. “It’s what a responsible company does. I have a lot of exposure renting paddleboards to the public. My business does well and I have some family money. My dad died in a car accident and his insurance paid out a million dollars. When I was in the ER after Dad got hit, I wasn’t calling any lawyer. I felt like I was moving underwater.”

  “When are they going to release the body?” Helen asked.

  “After the autopsy,” Jim said.

  “An autopsy! Why? She drowned,” Helen said. “It was an accident.”

  “They have to find out why she died,” Phil said. “Ceci’s death looks like a drowning accident, but it could have been caused by a medical problem, a stroke or an aneurysm.”

  “She’s too young to have a stroke,” Jim said.

  “They happen at any age,” Phil said.

  “Her death is just wrong,” Jim said. “Ceci was a nice lady. She was supposed to go home tomorrow after a vacation. Now she’s going back in a box with that greedy bastard.”

  “It is sad,” Helen said, patting his hand. “But you can’t blame yourself. I liked Ceci. Can’t say the same about her husband—she might still be alive if she was wearing that life jacket. You look pale, Jim. Have you had any lunch? Can we get you coffee? A sandwich?”

  “Not hungry. Too jittery for coffee,” Jim said. “I’ve had four cups since I got here. I’m gonna use the men’s room. I’ll be back.”

  He headed down the hall, his walk oddly jangly, as if he couldn’t get his legs in sync.

  “Phil, do we tell him about Officer James’s odd questions?” Helen asked when Jim was out of earshot.

  “Not yet,” Phil said. “We’ll face those problems if and when they happen. I just hope the husband doesn’t decide to sue.”

  “Can he do that?” Helen asked. “Daniel laughed his wife right out of her lifesaving life jacket.”

  “You’d be surprised how a good lawyer can twist this situation,” Phil said.

  “I wish I’d called that police officer when I found the tide table in Daniel’s towel,” Helen said.

  “So what if Daniel had one?” Phil said.

  “He circled the tide time when Ceci went out on her board.”

  “Still doesn’t prove anything,” Phil said. “They give them away on the pier.”

  “But he sent his wife out at the worst time,” Helen said.

  “She went herself,” Phil said. “He was on the beach when she drowned. He even tried to rescue her.”

  “Looked to me like he was trying to hinder the rescue,” Helen said. “Screaming and thrashing around in the water.”

  “He panicked when he didn’t see his wife,” Phil said. “Not everybody has a cool head in a crisis. Why are you shivering?”

  “Because all I’m wearing is a swimsuit and a thin cover-up,” Helen said.

  Phil dropped some coins in the coffee machine and handed her a cup of black coffee. She wrapped her hands around its warmth gratefully, then sipped the bitter brew.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I feel much better. I still don’t like Daniel.”

  “Me, neither,” Phil said. “Sh! Jim’s coming back.”

  Helen pretended to watch the TV on the waiting room wall. Then a red banner crawling along the bottom of the screen caught her eyes. “Missouri Tourist Killed at Riggs Beach,” it said. “Details on Channel 54 at 4.”

  “Phil!” she said. “Look!”

  “I saw it,” he said. He glanced up at the ER clock. “It’s three fifty-five.”

  Jim saw the bad news, too. He sat down heavily in his chair and put his head in his hands. “Oh, no,” he said. “Riggs Beach will use this to get me.”

  “You don’t know that,” Phil said. “We know Valerie Cannata at Channel Seventy-seven. She’s won a slew of Emmys, and she did some good stories about us. That’s probably how you learned about Coronado Investigations in the first place.”

  “You wait and see,” Jim said.

  The trio spent a tense twelve minutes. The top news stories seemed endless and pointless. Helen thought there were stories about a high-speed car chase and a robbery at a strip mall store. Then an anchor with a blond bubble
of hair assumed a professionally sad expression and said, “A thirty-year-old tourist from Kirkwood, Missouri, was killed while stand-up paddleboarding on Riggs Beach.”

  A photo of Ceci smiling adoringly at her husband, Daniel, flashed on the screen. It must have been taken a while ago. She wore a white ruffled top and was forty pounds slimmer than the woman Helen had seen. Ceci and Daniel looked deeply in love.

  “Where the hell did they get that photo?” Sunny Jim said. “She’s only been dead an hour.”

  “Her husband could have e-mailed it to them,” Phil said. “That means he’s going to sue. He’ll try the case in the court of public opinion first.”

  Jim groaned. None of them could tear their eyes away from the news story.

  Now a police spokesman was talking on-screen. “The victim was identified as Cecilia Odell,” he said. The spokesman looked like he was facing a firing squad instead of a camera. “Mrs. Odell was with her husband, Daniel Odell, on Riggs Beach this morning. Mr. Odell was sunbathing on the beach while his wife was stand-up paddleboarding. Mrs. Odell fell off her board and was found unconscious in the water. She was transported to Riggs Beach General Hospital and died at the hospital without regaining consciousness.”

  The blond anchor said, “The company that rented Mrs. Odell her paddleboard was Sunny Jim’s Stand-Up Paddleboard Rental, based in Riggs Beach and owned by Mr. James Sundusky. Mr. Sundusky did not return our phone calls.”

  “What?” Jim said. “They didn’t call.”

  “Is your phone on?” Helen asked.

  Jim fished it out of his pocket and checked the display. “The station called five times,” he said. “I should call them back now.”

  “No,” Phil said. “Let’s see where this story is going.”

  A blurred, shaky video clip was rolling. Helen could see the two lifeguards carrying Ceci out of the water on the rescue board. “A Channel Fifty-four viewer took this exclusive video of the rescue,” the blond bubblehead intoned. “Remember, if you see news and can safely do so, send your photos and videos to your Fifty-four news station. If we use your video, we’ll give you fifty-four dollars.”

  Professional video replaced the snippet of amateur work. It showed a hefty man with a comb-over and a dingy white short-sleeved shirt.

  “Oh, no,” Jim said. “That’s Commissioner Charlie ‘Want More’ Wyman. He’s always got his hand out for a bribe.”

  Charlie earnestly folded his chubby hands over his paunch while the blond anchor said, “Police say the incident is under investigation. But here’s what Riggs Beach city commissioner Charles Harrison Wyman told us.”

  Commissioner Wyman had a reedy voice for a big man. “I have repeatedly called for more regulation for water sports companies,” he said. “South Florida has had tragic deaths from parasailing providers, Jet Ski rentals, and now in Riggs Beach, stand-up paddleboarding rentals. These companies and their equipment should be inspected on a regular basis. And right now, that’s not occurring. My rules would change that. We need to protect our citizens and the good name of Riggs Beach as a family vacation spot.

  “If companies like Sunny Jim’s Stand-Up Paddleboard Rental can’t follow safety procedures, they don’t deserve to be on our beach.”

  “See? I told you,” Jim said. “The Riggs Beach City Commission is going to vote to take my license and my spot near the pier. They’ll do anything to ruin my business.”

  “Even kill an innocent woman?” Phil asked.

  “What better way to get rid of me?” Jim asked. “That poor lady was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Phil flashed Helen a look over the top of Jim’s head that told her he thought their client was astoundingly self-centered.

  Helen heard an engine pulling up to the emergency room entrance, then a short, sharp horn honk. A yellow cab was waiting outside the door.

  The emergency room’s inner doors swung open and Daniel burst into the waiting room. Sunny Jim stood up and approached Daniel carefully, as if an energetic movement could cause the newly bereaved husband more pain.

  “Daniel, I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice a mournful whisper.

  “Get away!” Daniel shouted. “You killed my wife.” He pushed Jim in the chest. “Get out of my way. That’s my cab.”

  “No, that’s not true,” Jim said, but he backed away. “I didn’t kill Ceci. Her death was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Daniel gave a harsh, ugly laugh. “You endangered my wife’s life with your reckless policies. You failed to provide her with proper training and safety equipment.”

  What? Helen thought. Daniel had mocked his wife when she put on a life jacket. He sure didn’t sound like a grief-stricken husband. He was using legal language.

  “I’d give anything for your wife to be alive,” Jim said. “I’d rather it was me who died than Ceci.”

  “Yeah, right,” Daniel said. His thin lip curled like a cankered leaf. “By the time my lawyer finishes with you, you’re going to wish you did die.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Helen and Phil straggled through the gate at the Coronado Tropic Apartments a little after six that night. Phil’s paddleboard T-shirt was stained and wrinkled. Helen’s hair hung in limp strings, and she felt ridiculous in her swimsuit and cover-up. At least she was thawing out after the hospital’s chill air.

  Margery Flax, their landlady, was stretched out on a chaise by the pool, white wine in one hand and a Marlboro in the other. She looked like a giant lavender butterfly in her caftan. She was seventy-six and wrinkled as a linen summer suit, but Margery’s wrinkles seemed like awards for distinguished living.

  “You two look like particular hell,” she said. “You need a drink. Let me get you a beer, Phil. Helen, pour yourself a white wine. The box is on the umbrella table.”

  “You are a goddess,” Phil said. “Don’t get up. I can run to my apartment and get my own beer.”

  “You are a humanitarian,” Helen said, filling a plastic wineglass from the box of wine. She took a long sip. “Hey, this is actually good wine.” Usually, Margery’s box wine tasted like Kool-Aid with top notes of tile cleaner.

  “Got it on sale,” Margery said. “The label says it has strawberry notes and a dry, slightly floral finish.”

  Helen took another sip and said, “My sensitive taste buds can detect that it’s cold, wet and has alcohol. Tastes good, too.”

  Phil was back with a cold Heineken and a big bowl of popcorn.

  “What a man,” Margery said. “Good-looking and you cook.” She helped herself to a generous handful of popcorn. Helen grabbed some for herself.

  Before they settled into serious munching, Margery said, “Who died?”

  “How did you know?” Helen said. Her hand shook and she spilled popcorn on her cover-up.

  “I didn’t,” Margery said. “But I know something is off. You’re prancing around in a swimsuit cover-up and Phil’s wearing a T-shirt that looks like it’s been in a food fight.”

  “We’re working undercover in Riggs Beach,” Helen said. “We saw a woman drown today. It was awful.”

  “Was she a client?” Margery asked, her voice softer and more sympathetic.

  “She rented a paddleboard from our client,” Helen said, and told Margery about Ceci’s death. Margery did some subcontracting work for Coronado Investigations. She also was a good listener and a source for local information.

  “You never mentioned who you’re working for,” Margery said.

  “It’s on my shirt,” Phil said, and pointed to his chest. “Sunny Jim’s Stand-Up Paddleboard Rentals.”

  “Not Jimmy Sundusky?” Margery said.

  “You know him?” Helen said.

  “Him and his daddy, Johnny. Johnny Sundusky was a beach bum, but the ladies loved him. Jim has his father’s charm and better business sense. He opened up that paddleboard rental company and seems to be doing well for himself.”

  “Maybe too well,” Phil said. “He thinks Rig
gs Beach is out to get him.”

  “Paranoia. He got that from his father,” Margery said. “Johnny owned Sundusky’s Sun Spot, a bar on Riggs Beach. Johnny claimed the city put him out of business.”

  “That’s what Sunny Jim says the city is doing to him,” Phil said. “Was it true? Did Riggs Beach have it in for his old man?” He took a long drink of beer.

  “Johnny was his own worst enemy,” Margery said. “He loved a good time and treated his customers like friends. He was always giving away drinks on the house. When he felt like celebrating, it was free booze all around. When he felt down, he gave away liquor to liven up the place. Johnny ran that bar like a perpetual party, and every mooch in town hung out there. When Johnny died in a car crash five years ago, he left his son barely enough to bury him and settle his debts. The only smart business decision Johnny made was taking out a hefty life insurance policy. That allowed Jimmy to start his business.”

  “That’s what he said,” Phil said. “Are our client’s claims that Riggs Beach is crooked and his enemies are out to ruin his business true?” Helen noticed that Phil’s nose was sunburned and his tan was darker. This job made him even better looking.

  “Not exactly,” Margery said. “The town is crooked. Riggs Beach has been called Rigged Beach since Prohibition days. Lowest-paid police force in South Florida, but they’ve always had big homes and expensive cars. When liquor was legalized, the smugglers switched to drugs. But Jim inherited his father’s paranoid streak, along with his debts. Don’t believe everything he tells you.”

  “Great,” Phil said. “An impossible job just got worse. Sunny Jim is convinced Ceci was murdered.”

  “Was she?” Margery asked.

  “We watched that poor lady die,” Phil said. “Ceci paddled out against a strong west wind. She had no experience in ocean paddleboarding. Jim warned her about the wind and the rip current near the pier, but she went there anyway. She fell off her board and was knocked unconscious. Daniel, the husband, is threatening to sue Sunny Jim. But Jim says she was murdered, maybe by someone in the Riggs Beach government. We didn’t see a soul near Ceci when she went under. We’ve got nothing.”