Live Ringer

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  The photographers began packing up their cameras, as the attendants lifted the body bag out of the water. At first, they tried to use the gurney, but the wheels wouldn’t roll in the sand. Finally, they gave up and lugged the bag by hand to the waiting ambulance. Then, one of them returned for the gurney.

  As the crowd began to melt away, Joe headed toward Allie. She marveled again at the change in him. He moved with assurance, almost swaggering with authority. Little Joey Odem toting a gun.

  He joined her on the table. “So, what happened?”

  “Are you here to grill the witness?” she asked lightly.

  He grinned. “I left my thumb screws in the car. Guess we’ll just have to talk.”

  “OK. What would you like to know?”

  “Where the hell you been for the last six years. Jeez, you got married and vanished.”

  She smiled. “That doesn’t sound like grilling to me.”

  Joe looked down at her. “I’m just getting started. How’d you come to be the one to find the body, anyway? I didn’t even know you were in town.”

  “I got in late last night. Well, not late. Eight-thirty, but it felt late. I’d been driving all day, and I crashed the minute I got here.”

  “Driving from?”

  “Atlanta. Mom and Dad’s.” When he nodded, she continued. “I took Aunt Lou’s dog for a walk—did you know she owned a dog?”

  Joe grinned. “No. I take it you didn’t, either.”

  “No, but I haven’t been around for a while.” She waited a minute to see if he would say anything about that. He didn’t. “Anyway, it got loose from me and ran toward the water barking. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it, otherwise.”

  “The body was where we found it? Floating in the water?”

  She nodded. “It looked like something hung up on the rocks. I thought it was a fish,” she added with a shiver. “I almost reached out and touched it.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Of course not. I ran back to the house and called 9-1-1.” She didn’t elaborate on that fiasco.

  “Did you see anyone in the area? On the beach or the jetty?”

  “No one. Well, a couple of old people collecting shells, but they were a long way behind me. They weren’t coming away from the area.”

  “Do you see them here?”

  Allie glanced toward the thinning crowd and shook her head. “They probably turned back.”

  “So, nothing seemed out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing, except the body.”

  That got a grin out of him. “That’s all you know?”

  “Every bit of it.” She hesitated a moment, then asked, “What happened to her? The woman, I mean.”

  “They’re taking her to the morgue.”

  “No, I mean what happened? Was there a boating accident or something?”

  Joe’s usually open face shut down. “We probably won’t know for sure until the autopsy.” He subjected Allie to a close scan. “So, where the hell you been, girl?”

  What could she say? “College. Married. Europe. Divorced.”

  “Busy woman.”

  She made a face. “I’ve been back a few times for quick visits. At least until we moved to Brussels two years ago. It—the marriage—didn’t work out.”

  Joe studied her face. “Are you OK with that?”

  “I’m fine with it. I’m glad to be back stateside, and I’m even happier to be back here. I just wish—”

  “Yeah?”

  She fought to keep her lips from trembling. “I wish Aunt Lou… .”

  “We all do, kiddo.”

  They fell quiet. The last official left, and the curious bystanders began wandering off down the beach or toward the car park. Joe, Allie, the seagulls, the sand, and sorrow thick enough to smother it all were all that remained. Finally, she shook it off and climbed down from the table. “I’d better let you get back to work.”

  Joe got to his feet, putting his hat back on. Once again, Allie got the impression that he’d grown taller during the missing years. Maybe it was the boots he wore or maybe the uniform.

  “Want a ride?” he offered. “I’ll do the siren for you.”

  Allie had to smile. Her old pal, a big tough cop. “I can walk. It’s not far.”

  He reached over and poked her bare arm. The skin went white before turning back to red. “You sure? You’re already starting to look like a lobster.”

  She hesitated only a second before linking her arm through his. “When you’re right, you’re right. Lead on.”

  When they arrived at the house, Joe left the car idling, as he sat looking at Allie for a long minute, almost as if he were trying to send her some kind of silent message—or maybe finding that body had rattled her brain. She reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Joe.”

  “I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

  She felt that now familiar mixture of happiness and sorrow settle on her again. “Not nearly as glad as I am, Joey-O.”

  She stood on the front stoop watching him drive away. Another car glided to the corner and hesitated before turning right toward the main road. She caught a glimpse of white hair.

  Chapter 3

  The house should have felt like a sanctuary after the ordeal at the jetty, but instead of feeling safe and protected, Allie felt ready to jump out of her skin. She paced the living room, wishing she could call someone. Not her mother. Vivian would somehow make finding the woman’s body Allie’s fault. Not her father. His solution to all life’s problems was to read another book. She’d never shared confidences with her brother, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her supposed friends in Brussels quit being her friends the minute she filed for divorce. Not only wasn’t Lou here to talk to, but Allie couldn’t even call or write her a letter. She had no one. For the first time, she felt the full effect of her isolation.

  For about a half-second, she considered running all the errands that needed doing, like the phone company and the grocery store. It would keep her busy, but there was no way she would step out of the house. Not yet.

  She wandered into the kitchen, opening cabinets at random but found no food to speak of in the house. Coffee. A few cans with iffy expiration dates. The refrigerator was bare. She rummaged through her handbag, found a package of cheese crackers, leftovers from the trip down and a bit crumbled, but delicious all the same. She ate them for breakfast and then began to unpack.

  The dog peeked out from behind the couch as she passed. “Nice doggie,” she said absently. She brushed her hair back from her face. It was a drab blonde now, but she knew from experience that it would be three shades lighter and dry as straw in a few weeks. The Florida sun was hard on hair. She re-pinned it on top of her head to get it out of the way before she lugged her suitcases into the hallway, stopping just shy of the guestroom door. Would she continue to stay in the guestroom? Granted, it was where she slept every time she’d visited, but that might not work anymore. Every morning, she would expect her aunt to come out of her room. She needed to make the house hers, no matter how much she wished it still belonged to Lou. Which left only one question: could she bring herself to sleep in her aunt’s room?

  She decided to test the waters. Leaving her big suitcase outside the guestroom door, she tiptoed down the hall to Lou’s bedroom door. Her aunt’s fragrance was stronger here, and it drew Allie into the room like a siren’s song. It reminded her of her arrival when she had experienced that overwhelming sense of welcome. She sat down on the edge of the bed. She couldn’t think of it as her bed yet, but she could live with “the bed.” Yes, she decided. She could, and would, use this bedroom.

  Leaving her overnight case in the bathroom, she headed into the hall for her big suitcase. She left her folded clothes in the suitcase until she found time to make room in the drawers and hoisted her garment bag over her shoulder as she opened the closet door. It was stuffed to bursting. Louise Smith was a packrat of the first order.

  She dropped the garment bag on
the floor and reached in for an armload of clothes, but instead of taking them off the rod, she hugged them to her. She’d found the fragrance’s origin. Lou could have been standing next to Allie, so real was her presence. As Allie buried her face in the garments and inhaled deeply, a piercing sense of longing shot through her. How could she pack Lou’s things away?

  She heard her aunt’s voice. “Just do it, sweetheart. It’s like going to the dentist. Better to get it over and done.” Allie stepped back and released the clothes. She didn’t like going to the dentist, either.

  She could hang her clothes in the guestroom until she went through her aunt’s things. She made room for her shoes in the bottom of the closet and looked up at the top, piled high with purses, her aunt’s single fashion vanity. Allie pulled one down, smiling, as she unsnapped the clasp. She reached in, certain she’d find a few crumbled tissues, loose change, and an old lipstick. Her hand closed on something cold and hard. She pulled it out and gasped. A gun. Holy God, a gun. What was her aunt doing with a gun? She heard a sound from the other room and froze.

  A voice snarled, “Hold it!” Allie didn’t hold it. She threw it and spun around.

  An instant later, she was wrapped in a hug, knocking the breath out of her. “Christ, Allie. Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone you were back?” a woman growled, crushing her tighter.

  Allie tried to suck in air, and her assailant loosened her grip. She barely recognized the woman standing in front of her. Six missing years had turned Sheryl Levine from a beautiful girl into a stunning woman, with masses of brown curly hair slipping out from under an official-looking hat. Tiny waist. Generous mouth and chest. Sheryl, the other musketeer. She wore a uniform exactly like Joe’s—and she held a gun.

  “Is everyone in town a cop now?” Allie demanded.

  Sheryl grinned, holstering her gun. “I don’t know about everyone, but I sure as hell am.” She looked around the room, taking in the suitcase and garment bag. “What are you doing here?”

  “Me? What are you doing here? I thought Aunt Lou wrote that you’d moved out of the neighborhood.”

  Sheryl made a face. “I did. To Titusville.” She said it as if it were Alaska instead of thirty miles up the coast. “Headquarters is up there, but I pulled patrol in this area for February.” She shrugged. “I usually buzz past here a couple of times a week to check the house since Lou died. You know. Vandalism. When I heard about the body at the jetty, I figured I should drive by. Check for signs of forced entry. Don’t want any murderers hiding out in empty houses. I saw the car out front and decided to check it out.”

  “Murderers?” Allie echoed, her voice hollow.

  Sheryl nodded, dropping down on the bed. “Looks like she was strangled. They haven’t done the autopsy yet, but it’d be hard to miss those bruises around her throat.” She saw Allie’s expression and burst out laughing. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, are you the hysterical woman who called it in?”

  Allie stood straighter, crossing her arms. “I was not hysterical.”

  “Right,” Sheryl smirked. She pulled off her cap and shook out her hair. Then, she twisted it up again with one hand and put the hat back on. “You been sick? You’re skinny as a twig.”

  “Fashionably slim, according to my ex-husband,” Allie said, sitting down beside her.

  She couldn’t quit staring at Sheryl. If anything, she looked more gorgeous than Allie remembered, and the uniform did nothing to detract from it. Sheryl made cop regalia look like haute couture.

  “Any more fashionable and you’d be pushing up daisies,” she said, poking Allie in the arm. She hesitated. “Ex?”

  “It’s a long story,” Allie added. “How about you? Did you ever marry Ernie?”

  “Married and divorced.” Sheryl sighed. “I should have known he was too good to be true.”

  “What happened?” Sheryl and Ernie were an item for as long as Allie could remember.

  “He changed his mind.” She shot Allie a look. “You?”

  Allie almost smiled. “I changed his mind.”

  Sheryl shook her head. “Men are pond scum.”

  Even though Allie agreed mostly, she laughed. “Not all of them.”

  “Name one,” Sheryl demanded.

  Allie could only think of one offhand. “Joe Odum.”

  Sheryl sat back a bit. “Well, maybe Joe’s OK.” She flung an arm around Allie’s shoulders. “I have to get back to work, but we need to go out and get drunk.”

  Allie smiled. “Name the time.”

  Sheryl grinned back. “Tomorrow night? I’m working a double today because Sidney’s on leave.”

  “Sidney Finch?”

  Sheryl nodded.

  “Sidney’s a cop too? I thought Sidney would end up in jail the day he turned eighteen.”

  “He damn near did, but the sheriff took an interest in him. Almost killed him from what I hear, but Sidney straightened up.” Sheryl got to her feet, nudging the forgotten gun away with the toe of her boot. “What are you doing with a gun? And is the damn thing loaded? You could have blown off your foot throwing it like that.”

  Allie shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s not mine. I found it in one of Aunt Lou’s purses.”

  Sheryl’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Lou? With a gun? Any idea why she thought she needed it? I mean, we’re not exactly in a high crime area here.”

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t around much the last few years,” Allie said bitterly.

  “Figured you’d be beating yourself up about that. You’re being a jerk. Stop it. We need to get caught up,” Sheryl said again and headed toward the door. She stopped when she saw the dog. “Hey, pooch,” she said, kneeling on the rug next to the couch. The dog ran out and almost wiggled into a knot of pleasure, as Sheryl ran her hand over its fur. “Cute dog.”

  “It’s not mine,” Allie said quickly. “Or I guess it is now. It was Aunt Lou’s. At least, that’s what her neighbor told me. Did you know she had a dog?”

  Sheryl thought for a moment. “I remember something about a dog. She put a note on the bulletin board, I think. I’ll check it out. Why?”

  “Because I don’t know anything about dogs. I don’t know how to take care of it. I don’t even know what kind it is.”

  Sheryl grinned. “It’s a Lhasa Apso. My mom usually has a half dozen of them running around the house.” She picked the dog up and flipped it over. “It’s a he, not an it. You can tell by that little thing between its legs. What else you want to know?”

  “What to feed it. How often? Whom to give it to?”

  “Are you serious? You want to get rid of it?”

  Allie bit her lip. She didn’t want the dog, any dog. Not now, at least. She had her hands full looking after herself, but if her aunt loved it… “Not get rid of it exactly, but if I could find it a good home….”

  “Want me to check with my mom? She’d probably love to have another one.”

  Allie hesitated longer this time. Somehow, this was even worse than packing up Lou’s clothes. The dog’s flat face turned in her direction, and she imagined its eyes under all that hair were accusing. Almost as if it sensed her intent, it leapt out of Sheryl’s arms and retreated behind the sofa. Allie steeled herself. “Would you ask her? If she can’t take it, I’ll understand.”

  “Sure.” Sheryl stood, brushing the dog hairs off her uniform. “I could use some brownie points. I’ll call her tonight.” She gave Allie a few dog-feeding instructions before she left and promised again to check with her mother. Allie could have wept with gratitude. Or maybe guilt.

  Allie went back into the bedroom. The dog peeked around the corner. “You’ll be happier with other dogs,” Allie said, almost certain she believed it. She sank on the bed, shaking her head. Sheryl Levine, a gun-toting cop. Allie remembered when she first met Sheryl during Allie’s second summer with Lou in Cape Canaveral. She must have been—what—eleven? She and Joe met that first summer and were best buddies. Sheryl’s parents had moved into the neighborhood
over the winter, and Sheryl and Joe were already tight when Allie arrived that year. At first, Allie resented sharing Joe with Sheryl, but within days, the three became inseparable. Sheryl was fun, and she was tough, but that didn’t mean she was masculine. Not then or now. All through their young years, Sheryl served as their enforcer; no one messed with any of the kids when Sheryl was around. She excelled in gymnastics all through school and was a cheerleader in high school. Back then, Sheryl and Ernie seemed the perfect couple—head cheerleader and quarterback of the football team. Allie hadn’t known Ernie well, not like she knew Sheryl, but he always seemed devoted to Sheryl. Allie thought they were a match made in heaven. “Which was exactly what people said about Garrison and me,” she told the bedroom walls. Amazing how wrong people could be.

  She picked up the gun with two fingers and dropped it back in the purse, shoving it to the far back corner of the closet. The gun puzzled her. Louise Smith hated guns more than Allie did. Through all Lou’s years of working as a dispatcher at the sheriff’s office, she never owned a weapon. Other than her mouth, Allie thought with a smile. Lou had a tongue that could flay skin when she decided to use it. Allie was never on the receiving end, thank God, but she had seen her in action. Although Lou was a warm and giving woman with a terrific sense of humor, a gentle woman, accepting all life’s little ironies, once riled, she became a harridan, and Allie wanted to be exactly like her when she grew up, which she thought should have happened long before now.

  No, the gun constituted one more mystery in an already unsettling day. Allie couldn’t imagine Lou going out and purchasing a gun, but she must have. If Sheryl didn’t know anything about it, whom could she ask?

  First, the dog. Now, the gun. What else didn’t she know about her aunt? Feeling restless, she decided to do something productive—she’d run her errands.

  *

  Brevard County roads resembled a ladder, with Highways U.S. 1 and A1A forming the outside rails and the ladder rungs a series of causeways, broad roads, and tall bridges spanning the two rivers that linked the inland cities with their beach counterparts—north Cocoa with Cape Canaveral, Cocoa with Cocoa Beach, and Melbourne with Melbourne Beach and Indialantic. The distance between rungs narrowed, as you got farther south. The barrier island halted abruptly south of Melbourne Beach at Sebastian Inlet. Boats—mainly pleasure crafts—used the inlet as a passage into the ocean from Indian and Banana Rivers. The currents in the inlet were treacherous, the surfing good by Florida standards, and the fishing terrific.