Coastal Cottage Calamity (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Abby L. Vandiver

  I tried to remember how energy needed by the body was converted from food as I watched Koryn head off toward Mac. Once there, they spoke for a moment and then Mac glanced at me and gave a wave before they turned to leave.

  “Good,” I said aloud to myself. “Now maybe I can get some work done.”

  I walked over to the computer and pulled up the images that I had taken so far. Squatting down in front of the box and examining the results, I quickly forgot all about my science joke not being funny. The images showed a differentiated subsurface boundary. Directly below the surface there was evidence of a water table. Water running underneath the ground.

  Whoa . . .

  I squatted in front of the big black box the computer was on, pulling it in closer I studied the images. I couldn’t remember reading anything about a well of water beneath the surface. Studying a few images, I mapped out the direction it was flowing and discarding my methodical sweeping and tried to trace the flowing water. I’d run the antenna along the ground and check the images, then adjusted my course until I found the source.

  Under a canopy of trees and the middle of a tangle of shrubs, there appeared to be a small manmade creek. Shallow, it had water running into it from the underground stream I’d followed. There was a scattering of different size rocks. And there were fish. Live fish swimming around in the creek. I knew that wasn’t on the report I’d got from the Conservancy.

  With excitement I whipped out my iPhone 6 and took pictures. I grabbed a plastic bag from my knapsack, rolled up my pants leg and waded out into the water. I had to try several times to scoop up a couple of the pesky intruders with enough water so they’d survive me taking them up on land. I wanted to get pictures up close and personal. Clicking away, I snapped eyes, gills, fins and mouth.

  I’m definitely going to have to get a zoologist down here.

  I hadn’t even thought I’d needed one. I pulled in a breath. Oh, this feels good. Finding something that no one else knew about.

  Then in the midst of my photography session I heard a scream.

  I jumped up and looked around.

  I know that scream.

  Then it came again.

  Miss Vivee and Mac was all I could think of. That was Koryn signature scream. I knew it well after her closet incident.

  I tore a hole in the plastic bag and slung the wiggling fish back into the stream. I rushed back, leaving my equipment. Had something happened? My heart was racing and my throat had become dry. Every nerve ending I had was tingling.

  Lord, I hope Miss Vivee’s okay.

  Maybe she had a heat stroke.

  I shouldn’t have brought her. I shouldn’t have left her. I’m never bringing her out to this island again. Lord, just let her be okay.

  As I got closer I saw the three of them, Miss Vivee, Mac and Koryn standing in the middle of the shoal halfway between the island and the coast of the mainland.

  Thank God.

  But it appeared they were looking down at a heap of something. Something on the ground. As I got nearer I saw that it was a body.

  I ran past them and across the sandbank and there was Oliver Gibbons. Laying across the shoal right where it started at the shore, half of face down in the shallow waters of the Savannah. His legs splayed, straw hat sitting askew, the other half of face glistening from sweat. His head was lying near a rock, one arm over his it. The other hand laid at an odd angle at his side. His ever present e-cigarette still clutched in his hand. A lumpy, gooey, wet pool of something laid next to him.

  I reached down to rouse him, check his pulse. See if I could help him somehow.

  “Don’t.” Miss Vivee said walking up to me. “He’s dead.”

  Koryn screamed again.

  Chapter Five

  A man was lying dead and they were having a pissing contest. At least that’s what Miss Vivee called it.

  Sheriff Lloyd Haynes, the only law enforcement officer in Yasamee, didn’t want to give in to the other guy’s jurisdictional claims. The “other guy” was Tom Bowlen from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

  “I’m telling you, Lloyd. This is government property,” Tom said. “That means it’s federal jurisdiction. And that means the FBI, whether you like it or not.”

  I took in a breath. Bay.

  My heart did a flip of joy.

  Maybe Bay would get the assignment. Then he’d come to Yasamee. My smile grew as I thought about seeing him.

  “What are you smiling about, Missy?” Miss Vivee smacked my arm. “Oliver’s dead.” She pointed to his body. I saw she had a tear rolling down her cheek.

  “Bay might be coming,” I whispered. “I am sad about Oliver. Just was thinking about Bay.”

  Wait. It probably still wasn’t good to be happy, he was coming because of a dead man.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “And I’m telling you,” Sheriff Haynes was talking, jabbing his finger at the FBI’s liaison. “That part of the shoal he’s lying across is in my jurisdiction.” He stopped pointing at the liaison and pointed to the ground surrounding Oliver.

  “I’ve gotta map right here, Lloyd.” Tom shook it in front of him. “All you gotta do is take a look.”

  “I’m not looking at anything. And stop calling me Lloyd. Show some respect.” Sheriff Haynes turned his back on the liaison and beckoned his make shift medical team – the town’s midwife and the only two ambulance drivers in Yasamee. They came equipped with a black body bag and a gurney and went into action on the Sheriff’s cue.

  “I’ma accompany them up to Augusta with Oliver’s body so we can get an autopsy.” Sheriff Haynes directed his statement toward the liaison but didn’t look at him.

  “You’re not moving that body, Lloyd,” Tom said ignoring the Sheriff’s directive not to call him that. “Not until the FBI agents get here.” He spread his suit jacket back and placed his hands on his hip to reveal his holstered gun.

  “I ain’t afraid of a gun, Tom. Or of you, for that matter.”

  “Don’t want you to be afraid,” he spoke in a calming voice and with a hint of a smile on his face. “Just want you not to touch the body.”

  Sheriff Haynes took in a breath and blew it out noisily through his nose. “Everybody move back,” he yelled. He did have authority over the small crowd that had gathered when news got out about Oliver. “Move back. Give us room. We gotta a job to do here.”

  Miss Vivee sat in her chair. She’d taken off the two pairs of glasses she’d worn all morning – her sunglasses sitting on top of her prescription glasses and squinted against the sun to watch. Mac standing behind her, she seemed to take note of everything that was going on. And every now and then she’d let her eyes drift over the body. I went and stooped next to her.

  “How did you find the body?” I asked and placed my hand on her arm. “Were you trying to walk over the shoal to get back?”

  “No,” she said. “Koryn had left for a bit, and when she headed back I guess she passed him. She let out that scream she does and Mac and I came to see what was wrong. We got here just before you did.” She nodded toward the liaison. “Mac called 911 on Koryn’s phone while she was screaming.”

  That very loud scream of hers was probably all the Sheriff needed, I thought. I had heard it all the way on the other side of the small Island. It might have reverberated across Yasamee.

  I studied Miss Vivee still worried. I’d never seen her sad, although she was still being her usual stubborn self. I tried to get her to leave and she wouldn’t. She said that Oliver needed her there to make sure things went okay.

  I looked over at Oliver still lying there. All that was missing was a chalk outline. Renmar and Brie arrived in short order, which I thought at first was good, I figured they could both help Miss Vivee. But no sooner than they arrived, they both were hysterical. They couldn’t even help themselves.

  I remembered that once Miss Vivee told me that Oliver was practically family. He had dated Brie at some point, but what she seemed most proud of was the wea
ving of their relation through history and marriage. She had told me that Oliver was related through slavery to Hazel Cobb, and Hazel Cobb related to Renmar because she’d married Hazel’s cousin Louis Colquett. At any rate, it was a sad scene at the shoal that night.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time they wrapped up at the crime scene. Everyone else had left or was instructed to leave by the sheriff or the FBI’s liaison. But no one could get Miss Vivee to leave. Not until they were finished. And if she was staying, I told them, so was I.

  Oliver’s body was going to have to be transported to be autopsied. No one in Yasamee could do it. But by the time everything was straightened out between local and federal authorities and the place secured, it was too late to get Oliver’s body anywhere. He was put in the one door freezer at the mortuary until the next morning when it could travel.

  Chapter Six

  The Maypop was dark and quiet.

  The dining room, usually buzzing with people and pies at this time of day was empty and all the lights were off. The place almost looked abandoned. The bed and breakfast only served breakfast and dessert, except on Fridays when they served lunch. Renmar’s famous (she’s won awards) bouillabaisse was one of the favorites on the menu and the medium sized dining area had waiting room only.

  It appeared that Renmar and Brie had secured themselves to their part of the house because when I got Miss Vivee home from the island, no one was around.

  “I know you must be tired,” I said to Miss Vivee as we walked into the house. I flipped on the light switch on the wall by the front door.

  “Don’t,” Miss Vivee said. “Just leave the lights off. I’m sure no one will be stopping by. No one in town is in the mood for blueberry pie or peach cobbler. Everyone is too sad about Oliver.”

  And that sadness was etched in Miss Vivee’s face. Her wrinkles sagged more, the brightness of her blue eyes seemed faded.

  “I’m so sorry about Oliver, Miss Vivee.”

  “Me too,” she said and smiled at me. She touched my arm. “Will you help me get to my room? I feel so tired.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Miss Vivee was always so full of energy. She was up with the sun, and kept going – working in her greenhouse tending to her herbs and plants she used for healing, or helping Renmar in the kitchen – all day. She’d go to bed around nine, but quite often I’d seen her up grabbing a snack out of the kitchen even as late as eleven.

  I put her umbrella, folding chair and picnic basket on the counter in the foyer and extended my bent arm for her to take. She held onto it and walked much slower than usual to her room. There I helped her get undressed and into bed.

  “You want me to make you some tea?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “Just hand me that box of tissue. I think I’m going to have to cry this out of me.” Then she looked at me. “You know sometimes it’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

  “I know, Miss Vivee,” I said. “My mother is big on crying. She cries about everything with no shame or concern about who sees her.” I smiled at her.

  “I like your mother,” she said pulling back the covers and climbing into bed. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “She’ll love you,” I said. I tucked her in and headed for the door.

  “Before you leave, would you draw the curtains?”

  “Sure.”

  “And then close the door behind you.”

  I too felt bad about Oliver, but after leaving Miss Vivee’s room for some reason that fish I’d found earlier that day popped into my mind.

  What was it doing on that Island?

  Chapter Seven

  There was a jangle of the bell over the front door and a “Hello.” The florid man that entered had a bulbous nose and sweat was dripping off his face. He attempted to walk up to the counter where Brie sat, but Cat, who had stood on all four as soon as the man walked through the double oak doors, starting jumping up and down barking.

  Miss Vivee hadn’t been exactly right, people didn’t necessarily want blueberry pie and peach cobbler but they were interested in stopping by the Maypop – everyone curious about what happened to Oliver. She’d gotten up from her nap and the dining room was buzzing with people keeping Renmar and Brie busy.

  “Whoa there, little doggie,” the man said. A woman, pulling a suitcase behind her followed him in. She smiled as she watched the scene. Staying clear of it, she seemed to enjoy Cat’s dislike for her companion.

  “Hi,” Brie said with a smile. “How can I help y’all?”

  “Can you get the dog?” he asked and adjusted the garment back he had slung over his shoulder. Cat was still barking and added a few snarls and bearing of teeth to his exhibition. She yelped so hard that it was making her go backwards.

  “Momma,” Brie said. “Get, Cat.”

  “That’s no cat,” the man said. “The little fellow seems like a man eater.”

  “Cute dog,” the woman said, which made the man hiss at her.

  “Hush your fuss, Cat,” Miss Vivee said and beckoned the dog to her. “C’mere girl.” Cat gave one more growl toward the man and leapt up onto Miss Vivee’s lap. “Good girl.”

  The man gave one more look over his shoulder, stuffed his shirt back down his pants, tugging them over his large pot-belly. He tugged at his nearly too little suit jacket. He gave the woman behind him a look before smoothing his hair and walking the remaining distance to the counter.

  “We’d like to get a room,” he said, his smile looked disingenuous. “Hope that dog won’t be a problem though. I don’t want to pay good money just to be terrorized by a mutt.”

  “She’s no mutt,” Miss Vivee said. “Pure Scottish terrier. She just doesn’t like hooligans.”

  “Miss Vivee,” I whispered. “Be nice.”

  “No. The dog won’t be a problem.” Brie’s usually sweet voice now mimicked her mother’s seemingly general displeasure with the man. “She usually isn’t so boisterous,” she said muttering the quasi apology.

  “Okay then. One room then. King size bed if you have it. For me and my wife, Charlotte,” he said and pointed to the woman at his rear.

  “Charlie,” the woman offered.

  “Charlotte,” he emphasized, “is Oliver Gibbons’ cousin. You know him?” He leaned forward and peered into the dining room glancing around it. From where I stood at the end of the counter, I saw everyone stop and take notice of the man’s remarks. “We were told that on most days we could find him here if he wasn’t at home,” he said.

  “He wasn’t home,” Charlie/Charlotte added.

  “That’s obvious, Charlotte,” her husband said, dismissing her comment. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here looking for him.”

  “Who told you that?” Brie asked her bottom lip starting to tremble. “Who told you that’d he be here?”

  “He did, of course,” the man’s answer was almost indignant.

  Then you could almost feel the shudder that came in a wave from the guests eating in the dining room.

  Renmar walked into the foyer. She’d evidently been listening to the conversation. “Cousins?” She stood with perfect posture, her nose slightly tilted in the air. Invading his personal space, she stood defensively, her eyes darting from one to the other, she sized up the pair. “I didn’t know he had any cousins,” she said letting her southern drawl take over.

  “We’re distant cousins,” the man said. “Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte nodded her head.

  “We haven’t seen him in about twenty years. Thought we’d come on out and pay him a visit,” the man put on a smile, certainly a dubious one that showed bad teeth. “We’ll probably stay at his beach house,” he said. “Once we figure everything out, but we’ll just get a room here until then.”

  “I’m Renmar Colquett,” she said. “This is my sister, Brie.” She pointed to Brie and then over to Miss Vivee. “And our mother, Mrs. Pennywell. We own the Maypop. And we were very good friends of Olive
r’s.”

  “Were?” the man said and lifted an eyebrow.

  “What’s your name?” Renmar asked and turned an ear indicating she was listening for it.

  “Oh, excuse my manners,” he said and let out a hearty laugh. “I’m Ron Anderson.” He stuck out his hand and shook Renmar’s. “And this,” he pointed to his wife, “is Charlotte.”

  “Charlie,” she said again and nodded her head.

  “I hate to be the one to tell you, Mr. Anderson. Mrs. Anderson,” Renmar nodded at each of them as she said their names.

  “Call me, Ron,” he interjected.

  “Ron,” Renmar said. She squared her shoulders and blinked her eyes to keep away the tears that had started to pool. “But Oliver is dead.”

  Charlotte/Charlie gasped and covered her face with her hands.

  “Dead?” Ron let out in a huff his face turning redder. “We just got here.”

  “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, Ron. Your timing is inconsequential, I’m sure.” Renmar emphasized her words. “It seemed to be a calamity of events. But Oliver died this morning sometime. His body is down at the McIntosh Funeral Home waiting until morning so it can be transported for an autopsy.”

  “Autopsy?” His voice boomed. “We won’t have it!” he said which seemed to cause Renmar and Brie to bristle. “There will be no autopsy,” he said loudly. “Tell them, Charlotte.” He reached back and pushed her forward so she stood in front of him. “They can’t do it unless you give permission.” He swung his eyes to meet Renmar’s even though he was still speaking to his wife. “And you don’t give your permission do you?” he asked never taking his eyes off Renmar.

  “Well . . . I . . . I guess I . . .”

  “See,” he said and pushed Charlotte out of the way. “They’ll be no autopsy.”

  “They’ll be one if the federal government deems one is necessary.” It was Bay. We’d all been so engrossed in the argument that we hadn’t heard the bell on the door that had announced his arrival. He must have heard part of the conversation. He reached in his inside jacket pocket as he walked over to the counter where Ron and his mother stood, looking my way, he winked.