by Eddie Jones
“I only have a few minutes,” Officer McDonald said to me. “What’s on your mind?”
“Mom and Dad told me you’re giving up the search for my sister. Mind if I ask why?”
“Not giving up, just changing the focus of the search. Did they mention we found the canoe?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Well, it proves your sister isn’t with that canoe anymore.”
“She’s not out shopping with friends. I know that for a fact.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, if it was me lost out there on Savage Island or some other place along that creek, I’d be yelling my fool head off.”
“I thought you knew. My sister has laryngitis.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that there were no footprints anywhere along that creek bank.” He stared blankly at me. “Last night you told me you and your sister rode down to the creek on bikes.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Where’s her bike now?”
I studied his face. The way he asked the question made me feel like I was a suspect in my sister’s kidnapping. “I guess it’s wherever your men hauled it to.”
“Wrong. We never found any bike. Not at the creek, anyhow. One of my officers did find one similar to the kind you were riding outside a townhome in the Turtle Dove Estates area. We checked the sticker. It’s assigned to the unit your family was staying in. You want to know what I think? I think your sister slipped off and spent the night with some friends.”
“We just got here yesterday; my sister hasn’t had time to meet any friends. Besides, she’s not like that.”
He rocked back in his chair. “Was there anything else you wanted? I’m due to jump on a conference call in a few.”
“What time did the call come in last night reporting my sister missing?”
“You know — you were there when your mom phoned it in.”
“By the time my parents and I got to the creek, TV crews were already at the creek taking pictures of the boathouse. How did the wildlife patrol get a boat in the water that quickly unless someone called before Mom?”
Officer McDonald rubbed his chin and sighed. “The report on you was right.”
“There’s a report on me?”
He reached into a wire basket and pulled out a manila folder. Flipping it open, he lifted a sheet and held it up for me to see. “Says here you helped solve a murder in North Carolina some months back.”
“Yeah, so, what of it?”
“Officer in charge of the case called you, and I quote, ‘arrogant and pushy. Boy acted like he knew better than me how to investigate a murder,’ unquote.”
“The victim was dressed like a vampire. Someone had stabbed him in the chest with a wooden stake. No one in charge acted like that was odd. I thought it might be a good idea to find out who the murderer was.”
“And you did that, how? By watching TV?”
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
He riffled through the folder and scanned another document. “Before the North Carolina case you accused a federal marshal in Colorado of murder.”
“He wasn’t a federal marshal, just the marshal of a ghost town. I found the actor playing the role of Billy the Kid dead in the hayloft. They told me I was mistaken, that it was part of the ‘ghost town’ experience. I did some digging. The marshal in Deadwood Canyon had motive, means, and opportunity, so I questioned him. Statistics show that law enforcement officers commit roughly the same number of violent crimes as the general population.”
“I wouldn’t be too quick to lump me into that group. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I had a hunch Officer McDonald didn’t care much for me and had only agreed to the meeting to keep my parents happy. Their daughter was missing and it was his job to find her. If I had questions or concerns, I imagined Officer McDonald felt obligated to entertain those questions, even if he did view me as a nuisance.
“Can you check to see if someone else called 911 before Mom did?” I asked. “Is that possible?”
Ignoring the question, he kept reading. “Says here in the murder of Bill Bell, you bungled the investigation. Messed things up so badly that the trial judge threatened to postpone the case until a hearing could be held concerning the circumstances surrounding the suspect’s arrest.”
“The man shot two people. I got a taped confession. How’s that not grounds for a murder charge?”
“Innocent until proven guilty. Just because you say he shot two men and you secured a taped confession doesn’t make it so. This wouldn’t be the first time an innocent man was wrongly accused. Not that it matters much now.”
“Well, it sure does matter.”
His face bunched into a scowl of concern. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk. “Thought you knew. From the way you acted last night at the creek, I thought you knew everything.”
“Knew what?”
“The judge set bail at half a million dollars and released the deputy, Patrick Gabrovski, pending a thorough investigation into the circumstances surrounding his arrest. A few weeks later, Gabrovski was involved in a fatal traffic accident.”
“He’s dead?”
“Went off the road at a high rate of speed and slammed into a bridge abutment. Truck caught fire. They identified him from dental records.”
Suddenly a coldness gripped my heart. Gabrovski’s case was the first I’d cracked using our Crime Watchers formula, and the editor at Cool Ghoul had hired me primarily for my detective work in Deadwood Canyon. Calvin had made it clear that when Gabrovski’s case went to court I would be featured on the home page of the website and maybe even sent back to report on the trial. Now Gabrovski was dead. In a strange way, I felt responsible. If I hadn’t been so eager to secretly coax a confession out of him, I never would have messed with the case and he might be sitting in jail still awaiting trial.
Trying not to sound too disappointed, I said, “What does any of this have to do with you finding my sister?”
“Just this. We’re doing all we can to find your sister, same as we would for anybody else. And what we don’t need right now is you playing detective and making a mess of things … like you did in Deadwood Canyon. That’s why I asked your parents to keep you away from the creek, the reporters, or anyone else involved with your sister’s search.”
Officer McDonald picked up the phone. He punched a button and asked to have the emergency call log brought to him.
He hung up and said to me, “Anything else I can do for you?”
I wasn’t sure if I should push the issue. The conversation definitely had not gone as I’d hoped. “Your cousin, does he still work at WSAV?”
McDonald’s eyebrows arched. “Come again?”
“I know your cousin is or did work as the radio host at the station. I also know about what happened with the Hank Cash interview.”
The corners of McDonald’s eyes twitched. I’d seen the same irritated look from the marshal in Deadwood Canyon and the officer in Transylvania, North Carolina.
“What’s your point?” McDonald asked.
“I’ve been thinking that if your cousin really wanted to improve the ratings for his show, planting a make-believe dead body on Palmetto Island the week before Savannah’s big zombie festival would create a lot of buzz.”
His neck muscles swelled. “Careful, son. You’re real close to getting tossed out of this office.”
“And wouldn’t it be convenient if someone posing as a zombie snatched a body the night before the event was to start? Something like that would make news, I’m sure. You know, get people talking about the event who had never heard about a zombie festival? You were in the military, right? As a Marine Diving Medical Technician? Did you have anything to do with my sister’s abduction?”
“Now you’ve stepped way over the line. If it wasn’t for the fact that —”
A knock o
n the door cut him off before he could finish. The same officer as before stepped in, placed a call sheet on the desk, and left.
Officer McDonald scanned the report and grunted. “Guess you were right.” He placed the readout on the desk and turned it so I could read. “Emergency operator received two calls about your sister last night.” He tapped the paper. “First one came in six minutes before your mother phoned.”
I studied the readout. “Hey, that’s my cell number!”
“Is it, now?” Officer McDonald leaned across the desk and said sternly, “What sort of stunt you trying to pull, young man, coming in here accusing me of having something to do with your sister’s disappearance when you know good and well you were the one who phoned it in?”
“Wha … Hang on, that wasn’t me! I didn’t even have my phone on me. It was in my backpack — the backpack you gave me when I got back to the beach.”
“Know what I think?” McDonald leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. “I think you and your sister planned this whole thing from the get-go. I think she snuck off to meet some kids and asked you to cover for her. You took a canoe from the rec center, shoved it out in the creek, and then called to make it look like she’d gone missing. Soon as she was away, you hurried back to the condo to meet your parents.”
“But if I was going to do all that, why would I leave my backpack in the boathouse?”
“Because you’re only a kid and not smart enough to know better. Tell you what I’ll do. For now I won’t charge you with making a false emergency call. I’ll wait until I have more information. But you’d better believe if it turns out you made up this story about your sister, I will file charges.”
I fought to keep my legs from trembling, that’s how mad I was. Me? You think I’m the one behind this? How about you tell me where you were last night when my sister was abducted. Tell me that, Corporal Kevin J. McDonald! I didn’t say this, of course. The fact that my phone made the first call pretty much meant McDonald would never believe Wendy and I hadn’t planned the whole thing.
Unless he was behind her kidnapping. Then he would know I was telling the truth.
Flustered, I blurted out, “Who did you interview last night besides me?”
“Just you, those teens at the bonfire, and that girl you saw me talking to. She’s the one who suggested I check the boathouse. Good thing I did, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found your backpack.” He stood. “Now, I need to get on that conference call.”
I remained seated. “Last night you pointed to someone standing by the cart path. You said it was the manager of the activities center. Any idea what time he arrived at the creek?”
“Just after you did. You want to interview him, be my guest. He’s in the building. I can get him for you, if you want.”
“That’d be great.”
Officer McDonald went out without closing the door and left me alone in the office to sort out facts surrounding my sister’s disappearance.
Talk about being confused. It didn’t make sense that someone would sneak back into the boathouse to use my phone to report her abduction unless … unless someone knew Wendy and I would be in that boathouse. But who? I thought about the anonymous comment posted on the Cool Ghoul website, the one that first alerted me to the mysterious appearance of Laveau’s body. It was that posting that had lured me to the boathouse. But why would someone want me to be at the creek during low tide? The answer came to me and it chilled my blood. “Should have been you in the canoe,” the caller had said. “Thought it was.”
I’d been set up from the get-go.
And I was still being played.
McDonald returned and introduced me to a young man with shoulder-length black hair and a stubble beard.
“Dirk, meet Nick Caden. Nick’s sister is the girl who went missing.”
I stood and we shook hands. Dirk had a lanky frame and broad shoulders. He was a good six inches taller than me, with an amiable manner about him.
Tossing back shaggy bangs, he looked at me with chlorine-blue eyes and flashed a big smile. “Officer McDonald said you wanted to chat, but now isn’t good for me. We’re both getting ready to go into a meeting. Can we meet in, say, an hour in the parking lot of the main beach access?”
“Yeah, I guess, but how do I get there? I don’t have a ride.”
“A shuttle can drop you off.”
Before I could find out where the shuttle stop was, both men slipped into the conference room across from Officer McDonald’s office. As the door was beginning to shut behind them, I saw Officer McDonald lean over and whisper something. Dirk looked back quickly and the door closed, leaving me to wonder if I’d gotten too close to the truth and was about to become the second Caden to go missing on Palmetto Island.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DUNE OUR THING
Standing in the shade of the shuttle bus stop, I checked my cell. I’d turned off the volume for my meeting with Officer McDonald, but now a text message from Ms. Bryant let me know she was on her way to a home on the beach called “Dune Our Thing.” If I wanted to chat, we could meet there.
At a quarter after one the shuttle dropped me off in front of a three-story home with silver-gray cedar siding. A white wooden sign mounted by the mailbox asked that visitors respect the privacy of the owners and avoid using the private beach walkway. No cars in the drive. The front lawn of carpeted Bermuda grass needed cutting and a row of bushes trimming, but otherwise the place looked immaculate. I approached the home and peeked through a downstairs window that looked into the garage. An assortment of beach toys hung from the ceiling and walls: kiteboards and Windsurfers and kayaks.
Ignoring the privacy warning, I followed the wooden walkway around the corner of the house and up the dunes. I took a seat under the gazebo to await Ms. Bryant’s arrival. A short ways up the beach a young father unlimbered a blue umbrella and began spreading towels. Two small boys emerged from the dunes dragging boogie boards across the sand. Some distance behind, the mom followed carrying an infant in her arms. A nice young family enjoying their vacation — sort of like the way we used to.
Small, brown-green swells slapped the sand. Birds with toothpick-thin legs skittered away from the surf rushing up the sand.
I thought about what had happened to Wendy and the Cool Ghoul website and tried to make sense of it. I wondered why someone would want to snatch me from a canoe at dead low tide. When the puzzle appears out of focus, the thing to do is sort the pieces into piles.
Officer McDonald was one piece. At first he’d been eager to find my sister, but not anymore. The way he’d lunged at the notion that I was the first one to call the emergency operator suggested he was eager — maybe too eager — to pin the blame for Wendy’s disappearance on me. Which got me to wondering what I’d find if I looked in the trunk of his cruiser. A wet suit, maybe? Perhaps a sodden party dress, rubber skin, and fake blood?
McDonald’s cousin was another mystery piece. Given the growth of radio services like Sirius and XM, along with Internet-streaming apps like Pandora and Rhapsody, I imagined maintaining a steady listenership for conventional radio would be difficult, especially with kids my age. What better way to grab the younger audience than to make it appear that a zombie had abducted a young teen? And who better to carry out such a stunt than a struggling actor with a bit part in a slasher movie? I made a mental note to circle back and find out if Matt Carter and McDonald’s cousin knew each other.
Kat was another odd fit. She seemed nice enough, but why the pressure for me to meet Poke Salad Annie? Were the two working together? Had Kat grabbed Wendy and passed her off to the Gullah gal? And if so, why?
My parents were perhaps the oddest piece of all. They had been determined to keep bugging Officer McDonald until he found my sister, but now both seemed resigned to the fact that their youngest child had simply slipped off to spend the night with friends. It occurred to me that I might not be the only one getting mysterious messages. Maybe Mom and Dad had bee
n warned to back off, too.
With the swipe of my thumb I unlocked my phone and brought up the TV Crime Watchers home page. Maybe if I could dig deeper into the zombie episodes I’d reviewed earlier, I could get a better idea of who was behind my sister’s disappearance. Instead of the normal log-in screen, a large headline appeared on the home page warning visitors that they’d just downloaded a virus. Quickly I powered off my phone.
“You the young man who stopped by my office earlier?”
Startled, I looked over my shoulder. The middle-aged woman wore dark blue slacks, a gold belt, and a white blouse with a gold cross hanging from her neck. With each step, glossy blonde bangs bounced. Her face, arms and hands were tanned to the color of butterscotch. She was attractive in the way businesswomen can be when they are confident and successful. I knew the type. Mom had projected that same look when she’d sold real estate in Lawrence.
She offered her hand. “Liz Bryant.”
Ms. Bryant’s grip was strong and soft. I introduced myself as Frank Caden’s son.
“Caden, Caden, don’t tell me, it’ll come to me.”
She closed her eyes and pressed a knuckle to her golden-brown forehead. Shiny rings adorned fingers on both hands.
“Three-bedroom townhouse on Turtle Dove Lane. The one with a view of the eighth hole. You are the young man we hired to haul off those limbs and other debris, am I right?”
“Um, no. You had dinner with my parents last night, in Savannah.”
“Oh, that Frank Caden. Sorry, I have my sales hat on. This place is coming back on the market and I was thinking about all the landscaping and yard work that needs to be done.”
I looked around at the dunes, sea oats, and sand. “But it’s on a beach — who cares what the yard looks like?”
“Honey child, you have no idea. People who buy homes in this price range care about everything. If you want, I’ll show you around. I have to check on a few things, anyway.”
“I doubt my parents would ever be able to afford something like this.”
Right now we can’t even afford to buy a refrigerator box to sleep in.