Ocean Blues

by Glen Ebisch

  Andrew nodded. “Do these reports contain any information on Sam’s state of mind?”

  “Yes, but that information is confidential.” Cross’s lips formed into a thin line.

  “I could always subpoena them,” Andrew pointed out.

  Cross glanced through the file and shrugged. “No need. There isn’t much here. Sam was having trouble in school largely because of his home life, as is so often the case. There was no father present and his mother is working two jobs to support the family. Sam was also working a part-time job at night. Tyler asked the boy if he could quit his job to concentrate on his studies, but Sam insisted that he need the money if he wanted to go to college.” Cross looked doubtful, as if unsure the boy would ever have gone to college.

  “How did Sam get the job at the Slipped Anchor Bar?” Clarissa asked.

  “There’s no information in the files about that. I imagine he heard from a friend that they needed help.”

  “Not the best place for a kid to work,” said Clarissa. “Is it even legal?”

  “As long as he didn’t work where they actually served the alcohol, he was probably within the law.”

  “Does Tyler’s report of his last meeting with Sam mention anything about the boy being more agitated recently?” asked Andrew.

  “He refers to noticing that Sam seemed a bit subdued lately, but when he spoke to the boy about it, Sam shrugged it off.”

  “Was there any indication of any tension or bad feeling between Sam and Tyler?” Clarissa asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Is there anyone else here that we can speak to who had frequent contact with Sam?” asked Andrew.

  “His math tutor, Ted Sullivan, is the person who had the most contact with him. Our science tutor quit recently and we haven’t hired a replacement yet, so Sam has only met with Ted so far.”

  “Would he be available to speak with us?”

  “Our tutors are only here in the afternoon after the school day is over. Most of them are teachers and are only available after hours. The students are transported here directly from the schools.”

  “Is there a time gap between the arrival of the students and the mentors?”

  “A half hour or so. But we have a lounge area with a pool table, table tennis, and a few vending machines. The students gather there until the mentors arrive. It helps build a sense of community.”

  “Is there any way we can get in touch with Ted Sullivan to set up a meeting?” asked Andrew.

  “He’ll be here at three-thirty. Before that he’s teaching at West Shore Side.” Cross took out his cell phone and scrolled though some numbers. “Here’s his cell phone number. Maybe you can give him a call and set up something. But he’s got a pretty full schedule of mentoring appointments until five.”

  Andrew added it to his phone. “I’ll see what I can set up.”

  “Do you have any idea how Sam could have gotten into a situation that led to this level of violence?” Clarissa asked.

  Matt Cross shook his head sadly. “None at all. Everyone here has some problems, by definition, but he didn’t seem to be in any worse shape than most.”

  Clarissa and Andrew thanked the man for his time. As they left the building, Andrew said, “What did you think?”

  “I’m unimpressed. Cross doesn’t inspire a whole lot of confidence, and the entire operation seems to be running on a shoestring.”

  “That’s my view as well. Look, I have appointments all afternoon and into the evening. Is there any way you could arrange to meet with Sullivan?”

  “Sure, I’ll have to check my schedule, but I’m free later on this afternoon.”

  “Thanks. My father wants me to attend a meeting of this men’s lodge he belongs to tonight. I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “Sounds a bit retro.”

  “Yeah, but he says that you have to belong if you want to do business in town.”

  “Do only men belong?”

  “As far as I know. I guess I have to be sponsored to get in, and the members want to look me over first.”

  “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll make a good impression.”

  Andrew frowned. “I’m not completely sure that I want to.”

  “What about an appointment to meet with Sam’s mother? Were you able to set that up?”

  “She reluctantly agreed to see me tomorrow in the early afternoon. I guess she’s got some time off then between her waitressing jobs. It might be tough getting much out of her. She seems to see us as the enemy because we’re helping Tyler.”

  “I suppose that’s natural.”

  “Yeah, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d come along. It might make the whole process a bit less confrontational.”

  “Sure, I will. And we should probably arrange to go to the Slipped Anchor Bar and see what we can find out about what happened there that night.”

  “Right. I’ll get in touch with the manager and see what we can set up.”

  When they arrived back at the church parking lot, Andrew rushed to her side of the car to help her out. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then gave her a short hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “I feel like we’re a couple of teenagers hiding from the adults,” he said.

  “Once this business with Tyler is through, we’ll have to sort things out,” Clarissa said.

  Andrew frowned. “Is there anything to sort out? I thought we were doing pretty well.”

  “There might be a couple of things to talk about.”

  “Okay,” he said with a nervous smile.

  Chapter Eight

  When Clarissa walked into her office, she found Samantha Jones there chatting with Ashley. In the last couple of months since Samantha had taken over as church sacristan, she and Ashley had developed quite a friendship, proving that very different people could sometimes get along extremely well. The small, thin, white Goth, and the tall, statuesque African-American veteran seemed to have forged a bond that Clarissa could only guess had something to do with both of them being outliers from the mainstream of Shore Side society.

  “I stopped by to give you a maintenance update,” Samantha said.

  Clarissa groaned. “I know this is something I’m not going to want to hear.” Shore Side Community Church was housed in a late Victorian building that due to its age and exposure to the effects of salt water frequently needed repairs.

  Samantha smiled. “It’s not too bad this time. As part of my top to bottom inspection of the church building, I went up into the steeple.”

  “Where the bell is?”

  “Yes. There’s a rope attached to the bell that runs down into the front lobby of the church. That’s where you ring it, so nobody goes up there much.”

  Clarissa nodded. She had been surprised to discover that none of the sound effects in the church were automated. There was a panel in the wall right next to the front door that opened to allow the usher to pull down on the rope and ring the bell at the commencement of services.

  “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Well, the steeple walls are composed of slats that allow rain and snow to get inside when the wind blows the right way. The floor is the same one that’s been there since the church was constructed in 1898, and many of the floorboards appear to be rotted. I didn’t walk on them, but I poked at the ones I could reach with a screwdriver and they weren’t very solid.”

  “But if nobody goes up there, does it really matter?” Clarissa asked hopefully. Even in her brief time at the church, she’d discovered that the Board disliked voting funds for building maintenance.

  “Afraid so, because if the floor goes then all that rain and snow is going to come right down on top of the ceiling in the church vestibule and before you know it that will fall on folks’ heads. Not a very welcoming experience on a Sunday morning.”

  “Sounds like this is a time when you have to bite the bullet, Boss,” Ashley said.

  Clarissa sighed. “How much will
replacing the floor cost?”

  “I would recommend using Ipe, it comes from Latin America. It grows rapidly, so it’s environmentally sound. It’s better than mahogany, which is what the original floor is made of, and a whole lot cheaper than teak. The floor isn’t more than eight by eight, so I could do the job for under a thousand.”

  “We’ll pay you for your labor,” said Clarissa.

  Samantha smiled. “No need. It’s all part of being the sacristan. I’ve gotten a lot of work from members of the congregation since I’ve taken this job, so I don’t mind throwing in my labor for free. I’ll also put some plastic sheeting behind the slats to keep out the worst of the elements. It won’t deaden the sound of the bell very much.”

  “Thank you. I’ll mention your generosity to the Board. As soon as I get their approval, we’ll go ahead.”

  Samantha nodded. “Just don’t wait too long. In the meantime, I’ll spread a tarp over the floor to protect the ceiling downstairs.”

  Clarissa thanked Samantha again and went into her office. She immediately called Lieutenant Baker and presented her theory—actually mostly Ashley’s—that one of the people who claimed to have been assaulted may be the one behind the assaults. Baker remained silent for a moment after Clarissa finished.

  “Okay, it’s possible you’re right. But still, any number of people might have a key to the front door.”

  “It appears to be an inside job to me. Maybe one orchestrated by Ed Schyler.”

  “Remember, I’ve told you before that there’s a difference between theory and evidence,” Baker said. “What you’ve got there is pure speculation. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it is completely unsubstantiated.”

  “But is it enough to check into the backgrounds of the people staying at the inn?”

  Baker paused. “I could get the information they gave Sylvia, and check to see whether any of them are using phony names or addresses. I could run a standard criminal background check on each of them.”

  “That would be a start. If anything suspicious showed up, you could look into it further. I think you should include Tracy Walsh, Sylvia’s granddaughter in the search. She was also an alleged victim.”

  “You are suspicious,” the Lieutenant said in an amused tone. “Are you sure you don’t want to become a cop?”

  “Not unless this ministry thing does bad. But I’m suspicious of anyone who claims to have been assaulted at the inn. Somebody is lying.”

  “Unless it really was a ghost.”

  “Is Mrs. Becker starting to convince you that there really are ghosts at the inn?”

  The Lieutenant chuckled. “It would make my job a lot easier. I don’t have to arrest ghosts.”

  After hanging up, Clarissa put in a call to the tutor, Ted Sullivan. She thought she’d be put through to voice mail because it was the middle of the school day, but surprisingly he answered.

  “Yeah, this is my free period,” he explained, when Clarissa had told him who she was and why she was calling. “If you can look at grading thirty math quizzes as freedom.”

  “Sounds like work to me.”

  “It’s a good thing I love math and love teaching.”

  “Would you have any time to meet with me this afternoon? I know you have a busy tutoring schedule, but it shouldn’t take long.”

  “If you just want to ask me about Sam, it certainly won’t take long because I only met with him a few times. If you can get here right at three thirty, I can spare you ten minutes before my first tutoring session.”

  “That would work fine, and I really appreciate your willingness to meet with me.”

  “Not a problem. It’s a real shame when someone dies that young.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  Clarissa sat at her desk for a minute, rearranging her schedule for the afternoon. When she looked at her watch, she realized she was already late for lunch. She was a bit surprised that the ever-efficient Mrs. Gunn had not already given her a call to see what was keeping her. Ashley wasn’t in the outer office, apparently having gone out to run an errand, so Clarissa made sure the answering machine was on and locked the door as she left. She took the short path to the back door of the parsonage and entered the kitchen. Mrs. Gunn was sitting at the table writing on a large legal pad, and didn’t even seem to hear Clarissa enter.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gunn,” Clarissa said softly.

  The woman looked up, startled. “What are you doing . . .” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, my goodness, where’s my head? I’ve been so caught up in this that I completely lost track of time. You’ll be wanting your lunch.”

  “There’s no hurry. What are you working on?”

  “The guest list for our wedding. Joe left this at my house last night,” she said, tapping an address book that lay open on the table. “He said that everyone in here has to be invited. These are all his family members and close friends. There must be over a hundred names. I’ve been writing down the folks I want to invite, that should come to another fifty. A wedding that size will cost a fortune. We have to cut back on the number of people we invite. I’ve been working up my courage to give Joe a call, but I’m afraid that it might lead to our first fight.”

  Clarissa sat down at the table next to Mrs. Gunn and smiled. “I’m sure we can work this out with no fighting. Has Joe ever been married before?”

  Mrs. Gunn frowned. “Once when he was very young. I gather they had a small wedding. The marriage didn’t work out, and they got divorced. I think it was a hard thing for him because he almost never talks about it.”

  “That might be why he wants a big wedding this time. He might feel that having a big celebration will make this marriage more likely to last. Also he wants his family and friends to remember his marriage to you and not the one from years ago.”

  “You might just be right at that. I never considered it before. But we can’t be inviting a hundred and fifty people. How can I make Joe happy and still keep us within our budget?”

  Clarissa thought for a moment. “I think what you need are objective criteria to determine who gets invited. For example, only invite family members who are siblings, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, and first cousins. No friends and acquaintances that you haven’t seen in the last ten years. Start there and see how many people that weeds out. Once Joe sees that you’re applying the same restrictions to your list, he’ll have to go along.”

  Mrs. Gunn nodded. “I’ll sit down with him tonight, and we’ll go through the book together. I’ll tell him the idea came from you. That way he’ll take it more seriously.”

  Clarissa nodded, wondering if she’d just made an enemy.

  “Now what about lunch?”

  “Do we still have some of that nice rye bread?”

  “Indeed we do.”

  “Then how about a tuna fish sandwich with a bit of lettuce and tomato.”

  “How about some soup with that?”

  “No thanks. The sandwich will be plenty.”

  After giving a grunt of discouragement at not being able to increase the size of the lunch, Mrs. Gunn went about preparing the sandwich. A few minutes later a jumbo sandwich with what amounted to a side salad appeared in front of Clarissa.

  “That’s quite a meal,” she said.

  “Everyone needs lots of good vegetables, especially those who don’t eat much,” Mrs. Gunn said, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

  Clarissa took a bite of her sandwich. “This is great, but there’s something special in it.”

  Mrs. Gunn smiled. “So you do taste your food. There’s just a bit of dill in the tuna.”

  Clarissa nodded her appreciation as Mrs. Gunn went about preparing food for Clarissa to heat up for dinner. Her mind drifted back to the attacks at the Shipwreck Inn.

  “Do you know anything about Sylvia Drummond?” Clarissa asked.

  Mrs. Gunn paused. “Well, she’s been a member of the church for about ten years or so, ever since she took over that inn from her aunt. Aside from looking a li
ttle hippy-dippy, she seems nice enough.”

  “Why is her granddaughter, Tracy Walsh, working there?”

  “The story I got,” Mrs. Gunn said, glancing around the kitchen as if afraid of being overheard, “is that Tracy’s parents were on drugs—that opioid stuff you hear about. One of them ended up in jail and the other in rehab. So Sylvia offered to take her in about five years ago right after she graduated from high school. She’s been living with her ever since. From what I understand, she does most of the housework around the place, while Sylvia handles the business side.”

  “I’ve met her twice, but I don’t have much of a sense of her.”

  “I’ve seen her around town once in a while, but she doesn’t come to church so I can’t say that I really know her.”

  “Does Sylvia have many children?”

  Mrs. Gunn shook her head. “From what I hear, only the daughter with the drug problem. That might be why she’s so close to her granddaughter.”

  “Thanks for the information,” Clarissa said. “I guess I’d better get back to work.”

  Mrs. Gunn eyed the unfinished half of the sandwich. “You aren’t done with your lunch.”

  “Have you had lunch yet?” Clarissa asked.

  “Nope. I’ve been too busy worrying about this wedding.”

  “Why don’t you have it, then. With all the planning you’ve been doing, I’m certain you’ve worked up an appetite.”

  Mrs. Gunn smiled. “Maybe I’ll do just that. Can’t have good food going to waste.”

  Clarissa nodded and headed back to her office. Ashley was typing at the computer.

  “What are you working on?” Clarissa asked.

  “The history of the church you’re doing. I have to say that I wasn’t too keen on the idea at first, but some of this personal stuff is pretty interesting.”

  “Yeah, it’s the specific details that bring history to life. I still have about half the congregation to visit. In fact, I should schedule some more today. I’ll be in my office working on my sermon for a while. Put through any calls that come in. I have to go to a meeting at three, so put on the answering machine when you leave. I might forget.”