by Edie Claire
“Cousin Hap!” she said with delight, returning his crushing bear hug. “You always were a liar! I’ve had two kids since the last time you saw me!”
“And it’s a crying shame it’s been so long, I know,” he said regretfully. “Your mother and the girls have been on me about that. But after Maureen passed, I just couldn’t bring myself to get back there.” He released Leigh, drank her in with a long, approving look, then turned to extend a hand to Warren.
“Hap Taylor,” he said cheerfully. “They tell me we met way back at my mother’s funeral, but I’m afraid I can’t recall it. Francie’s been bragging on you for years, though! Bess and Lydie, too.”
Warren shook the proffered hand and reintroduced himself. “It was a long time ago. And they all speak very highly of you, as well.”
Hap snorted with laughter. “Well, I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder. Lord knows those three gave me a hard enough time growing up!”
Leigh laughed with him, wondering how Hap’s perspective on the family history might differ from what she’d always heard. He was a couple years younger than her mother and Lydie, which made it entirely believable that “the girls” would pick on him. He retold an anecdote Leigh had heard before about his retaliating for some forgotten abuse by tying the sleeping sisters’ braids together. Then he swept a key from off the counter. “Well, don’t let me go on all night. Let’s get you two settled!”
Leigh noticed that the noise outside had increased significantly. Now multiple siren wails cut through the air, and the birds had begun to squawk.
“I hope that’s not your truck the crows have taken over out there,” Warren said lightly, voicing Leigh’s own thoughts.
“You mean the grackles?” Hap waved a hand dismissively. “My truck’s at the RV park. I walk here. But I expect they’ll hit it when they’ve a mind to. Damn things roost wherever they please. They like to pick dead bugs off the front grills. But you leave half a bag of fries or some chips in the back of your truck — well, then you’re getting what you ask for!”
He looked at Leigh conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Bev I said that, by the way. Cursing the birds. She’ll start lecturing me about how it’s not their fault because of ‘destruction of native habitat’ and whatnot — Lord knows I hear enough of that talk already!”
Leigh smiled. “I’m looking forward to meeting Beverly.”
Hap’s already ruddy face flushed with pleasure. “She’s looking forward to it, too. I’m supposed to invite the two of you over to dinner tomorrow. We would have done it tonight, but Bev had to be up at her sister’s place today, and we didn’t know for sure when you’d get in—”
“Please,” Warren interjected. “Don’t put yourself out. You don’t have to feed us. Although of course we’d love to join you for dinner tomorrow. Don’t you need a credit card for check-in?”
Warren already had his wallet out, but Hap waved the offer away and led them toward the door. “We’ll worry about that when you leave. You’re tired now, let’s just get your—” Hap stopped in midsentence as he pushed open the door and the sound of multiple screaming sirens filled the small lobby. Deep furrows crossed his brow as he stared out into the street. “Well now,” he said uneasily. “You don’t hear this much ruckus around here too often. I wonder what the devil’s going on?”
The grackles squawked louder.
Absolutely nothing, Leigh willed.
Hap held open the door for them. They had just picked up their suitcases to follow when the hotel’s desk phone rang. “Oh, excuse me just a minute,” Hap said apologetically, darting back inside. “It might be one of the owners. I was expecting—” He cut himself off as he picked up the phone. “Silver King Hotel. What can I do for you?”
Leigh felt Warren’s arm slip around her waist. “You okay?” he asked. “You look a little… uncertain.”
“Of course I’m okay,” Leigh insisted, wishing for the thousandth time that her husband couldn’t read her so well. “I just have a thing about sirens.” She paused a moment. “And maybe about creepy black birds with yellow eyes that cluster in one spot and stare at me. But I’m still good. Texas is good. The sun will come out tomorrow.” She looked up into his handsome face and found her happy mood rekindling. “Nothing is getting me down this week, I promise you. I haven’t taken this much pure ‘me-time’ since before the kids were born. I intentionally didn’t bring any work along so that I wouldn’t even be tempted! I am on vacation with a capital V.”
“Glad to hear it,” Warren said tenderly. His brown eyes sparkled, and he leaned down and kissed her. At some point, Hap hung up the phone with a bang, and the couple parted.
“I don’t believe it,” Hap mumbled.
“What’s that?” Leigh inquired, not particularly caring. She was eager to get to their room.
“That was my buddy Carl,” Hap answered. “His daughter, Bobby Jo, works down at the police station.”
Leigh was only half listening. But there was a word in there she didn’t like.
Hap whistled. “Never in my life… other places, maybe. But little ol’ Port Mesten? Good Lord above, what’s the world coming to?”
Warren looked up. He didn’t appear to have been listening, either. “What was that?”
Hap cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just the darnedest thing…” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. Then he pointed one finger in the general direction of the ocean.
“A body just washed up on the beach.”
Chapter 2
I am not involved.
The words were Leigh’s new mantra. She would tattoo them on the backs of both of her hands if she could. Maybe even backwards on her forehead, too, so that it would come out right when she looked in the mirror. But of course she couldn’t do any of that, because it would make her look guilty of something. And she wasn’t guilty of anything. Nothing at all.
Yes, for the first time in the history of Port Mesten, a recently deceased corpse had washed up right on the main tourist beach. And yes, that event had coincided exactly with the arrival — for the first time ever — of one Leigh Eleanor Koslow Harmon. So what? Such a convergence of timing meant nothing. To believe that it did, one would have to be both superstitious and paranoid.
Leigh was not involved.
The Texas sun was shining brightly this morning, just as she had willed, and Leigh was determined to make the most of it. After waking up alone in the room (Warren having left for work at the crack of dawn) she dressed hurriedly and threw some essentials into her backpack. Today she planned to do some serious sightseeing, all on foot. This was one vacation during which she would not gain weight!
She stepped out of the cozy second floor room Hap had assigned them and onto the long veranda, then locked the heavy door behind her. With its creaky floorboards and small-scale spaces, the historic building definitely showed its age, but it was sparkling clean and the furnishings more than adequate for a good night’s rest. Leigh walked down the stairs and made her way to the tower lobby, where she found Hap waiting for her with another cheerful grin on his face.
“Good mornin’ to you!” he greeted, reaching under the counter to produce a plate of pastries and fruit. “Got a little welcome gift here from the missus. Hot coffee and tea over by the door!”
Leigh’s stomach rumbled as her eyes took in the plump blueberry muffins. Well… walking required energy, did it not?
“I love Bev already,” she gushed, pouring herself a cup of java and then accepting the plate. Hap came out from behind the counter to top off his own cup, then they sat down together on the lobby’s wicker furniture. “Oh, my,” she said, noting the oddly sized pieces of translucent paper that were tacked up on the walls all around them. They looked rather like onion skin and were covered with handwriting. “What are these things?”
“Tarpon scales,” Hap said proudly. “You know, the fish? Port Mesten used to be famous for tarpon. Big, shiny devils they we
re. Six, eight feet long some of them, jumping straight out of the water. They’d fight you when you hooked them — that’s what made the sport. Didn’t taste too good, but everyone wanted to come wrestle a silver king, just the same!”
Hence the hotel’s name, Leigh realized. She leaned toward the wall nearest her to see that the huge scales had been signed and dated by people who had stayed and fished here, all the way back to the late twenties. It was an interesting concept. Still… her personal decorating tastes, such as they were, did not extend to fish skin.
“I read a little about this hotel on the website,” she explained, trying not to wolf down the delicious muffin as quickly as she wanted to. “It’s one of the oldest buildings in Port Mesten, right?”
Hap nodded. “That’s right. The house the museum’s in now is the oldest. The original building on this spot was built back in the 1880s to house the men working on the jetty. They used lumber from the old civil war barracks to put it together. That building got mostly wiped out by the hurricane of 1919, but what was left standing got rebuilt into a hotel in the twenties. They knew a little bit more about how to build them sturdy by then, you see. The business has had its ups and downs since, particularly when the tarpon started drying up, but it’s lasted through all four hurricanes since, and it’s always been a hotel!”
“What happened to the tarpon?” Leigh asked, moving on to muffin number two. Heaven.
“Nobody really knows for sure,” Hap answered, scratching the top of his bald head. “They just disappeared. Started in the late fifties. By sixty-five, tarpon sport fishing was dead. Some folks blame the drought and the dams, or too many boats, or too much fishing. Probably it was a little bit of everything…”
As Hap launched into an amusing series of fish stories, Leigh finished off her second blueberry muffin and then found herself staring lustfully at the third and fourth. Clearly, they had been meant for Warren. But he wasn’t here. She chomped into number three. “So, have you ever wrestled a tarpon yourself?” she asked as soon as her mouth wasn’t full. “Mom said you loved to fish.”
Hap smiled, but shook his head. “I fish plenty, but I’ve never seen a tarpon. Bev and I only moved here eight years ago now. She knew the old owner, Dick Patson. But he died not too long after we started working for him. That’s when Cort bought the place. Of course, he’s gone now, too.”
Leigh caught a sudden, sharp look of sadness in Hap’s wide blue eyes. “Cort?” she asked softly.
“Cortland Finney,” Hap answered. He looked at her expectantly. “You’ve heard of Cortland’s Famous Fish Rub, haven’t you?”
Leigh shook her head. More coffee was needed to wash down her third pastry. The fruit looked good too, but… priorities.
“He passed away a little over a year ago now,” Hap continued. “Port Mesten’s favorite son. Homegrown millionaire. Or billionaire, rather! He and his wife started out with a little diner here on the island, then grew it into a whole chain of restaurants and gift stores. Surely you’ve heard of Texas Todos?”
That name did ring a bell. “You mean the little gift stores in the airports that have all the Texas-themed stuff?”
Hap grinned. “That’s right. Cort and Debra built themselves a real empire. They sold off the restaurants a long time ago, but the gift stores and online business have been bringing in a pretty penny as long as I’ve been around.” His expression turned sour, and his voice lowered. “Nobody knows what’ll happen now, though, with the kids taking over. You ask me, I wouldn’t trust a one of them as far as I could throw them. Pack of damn jackals…” His voice trailed off as he glanced toward the door. But just as quickly, his good humor returned. “Well, listen to me going on and on like the town gossip, when you’re here to get some sunshine! More coffee?”
Leigh accepted gratefully. However, she was enjoying his gossip. “So who owns the hotel now?”
Hap made an obvious effort to maintain his cheer. “They do. The kids. Well, they’re not kids anymore, I suppose. They’re all around forty. Their mother passed away before Cort did, and word has it the couple always agreed to split everything four ways after they were gone. Which sounds fair, but of course it’s been a mess.”
“Why’s that?” Leigh asked, sipping the steaming cup. She was completely stuffed, but it was worth it. She would simply walk every minute between now and lunchtime.
“Because there’s only one thing the four of them hate more than an honest day’s work,” Hap declared. “And that’s each other.”
Leigh nodded. “I see the problem. But mom and dad didn’t?”
Hap chuckled without mirth. “Hell, no. They thought the world of those kids. Always figured they’d grow up and straighten out someday. What’s worse is, Cortland really did seem to think he was immortal. He knew he needed to split up everything proper, but he always figured he had more time. I heard the will he died with was twenty years old.”
Hap was thoughtful a moment, then his voice lowered again. “By the way, I’d appreciate it if we kept this conversation between the two of us. Like Bev keeps reminding me, the Finney kids are the owners now, so I’d best stop my ranting about them. It’s an awfully small town, at least as far as permanent residents go. And Sharonna stays here in the penthouse sometimes. So don’t get me into trouble.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Leigh assured, rising. “There is zero chance I would do anything to jeopardize my odds of getting more muffins.”
Hap laughed. He offered to refrigerate her leftovers should she desire a midafternoon snack, then he supplied her with a map of the town and a water bottle and wished her on her way.
Leigh stepped outside and inhaled deeply of the warm, seaside air. The breeze was stiff, but a thin jacket was all she needed to feel warmer than she had in months. She looked across the parking lot for the ill-fated pickup truck, but both it and the creepy grackles were gone. Only a handful of cars remained now, and the only birds she saw were a soaring gull overhead and several brownish sparrows hopping around in the grass near the curb. The sun shone brilliantly, showering some real honest-to-God warmth on her pale, UV-deprived face, and she smiled inside and out.
Bliss. Now this was the vacation she had imagined.
Ignoring the map in her pocket for now, she set off in the general direction of the beach. The Silver King Hotel, which fronted a two-lane thoroughfare and was probably once the only structure on it, was now wedged in among a variety of other commercial establishments. A seafood restaurant and pizza parlor were across the street, but the hotel’s closest neighbors were two curiously dissimilar RV parks. On one side was Mesten Acres, a chaotic jumble of fifth-wheel campers and semi-permanent trailers surrounded by a sad-looking chain link fence. On the other side, two rows of tall palm trees flanked the entrance of the Mesten Grande RV Resort, which Leigh could see little of from where she was standing, but which appeared to cater to the kind of luxury motorhomes that cost more than many Pittsburgh houses. As she crossed the street and strode toward the sound of squawking gulls, she wondered which park Hap and Bev lived in.
Two and a half blocks later, Leigh had reached her destination. The gray waters of the Gulf of Mexico lay before her, churning with an unexpected energy. It didn’t look like the Florida part of the Gulf that she had seen before. Here, no defined waves crashed upon the sand with predictable regularity. Nor was the ocean flat, lapping placidly at the beach. For yards out from shore, the water churned in a confused froth of broken wave segments, making a constant roiling noise rather than an ebb and flow sound.
Leigh had no idea what peculiar topography, tides, or wind caused the difference. But she did enjoy the roaring noise. She kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot in the sand. Down the beach to her right she could see a pier, and she turned and headed for it, her thoughts drifting aimlessly as she scanned the sand for interesting seashells.
She had already pocketed parts of two broken sand dollars and was studying a strange piece of giraffe-spotted shell when she noticed a c
luster of vehicles beside her. She looked up to see a black SUV emblazoned with a Texas Ranger logo and two Port Mesten police cruisers.
Whatever is going on, she reminded herself firmly, I am not involved.
Beside the vehicles stood a dozen or so people. Three men and one woman in uniform were speaking with two men in casual clothes. The rest of the crowd seemed to be hanging around out of pure curiosity.
Leigh felt a sudden chill in the wind. A stray remnant of yellow tape remained connected at one end to a squatty bush not ten feet from her, while its other end flapped about in the scraggly dune grass. This must be where the body was found she realized. The remains would be long gone by now, but that wouldn’t stop people from wanting to come here, to look around, to talk about it. She felt a tug of sympathy for the unfortunate soul who had first happened on the grisly sight. But at least it wasn’t her.
Resolving to walk right on by, she returned her eyes to the sand and seashells. But she still couldn’t help overhearing.
“Do they know who it was?”
“Did you hear?”
“I think they know.”
“Did they say?”
“Oh, they know.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I heard it was a man. Like an older guy.”
“Wasn’t anybody from around here, was it?”
“Is anybody missing?”
Leigh forced her feet to keep walking. She had nearly cleared the scene altogether when she made the mistake of stealing a glance back at the uniformed officers. One of the casually clothed men standing near them happened to be looking her direction, and their gazes met.
The man was around her own age, maybe younger, tall and well built with a square jaw and carefully cultivated nascent beard. His full head of hair shone light brown in the sun, and he was wearing shorts and a polo with designer sunglasses perched atop his head. Unwittingly, Leigh stopped walking. He did not look at all familiar. But his blue eyes went wide with what appeared to be recognition… of her.