Dead Center (The Still Waters Suspense Series Book 2)

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  After pulling on some sweats and a heavy hoodie, he brushed his teeth and went up to the galley. He cranked up the espresso machine, popped his milk into the microwave, and then put some leftover fish in the cat’s stainless-steel bowl. Then Evan carried his café con leche out to the aft deck, leaving the glass door open for Plutes. This was one of the rare times that Evan didn’t have all of the windows open, and the litter box was out on the deck. Unless the cat learned to use the head, he was going to have to poop outside.

  Evan sipped his coffee, his breath puffing outward and becoming one with the steam from his cup. The sky was just starting to lighten, and though it was cool, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The bay was glassy. It would be a great day to go out, though Evan preferred a nice chop.

  He picked up his cigarettes and lighter from the small glass table, lit a cigarette, and enjoyed the first, almost crushing, lungful of the day. He wondered, not for the first time, why the first drag of the day was the best, despite the fact that it was almost painful. He’d quit for almost seven years. Almost a year ago, he’d walked out of the emergency room in Cape Canaveral, walked past the ambulance that had transported his wife, and bummed a smoke off of a guy with a cigarette in one hand and his IV pole in another.

  Evan had felt a rush of guilt as he bent for a light, quickly followed by a sweeping calm as he breathed in his first hit of nicotine in years. The guilt had returned later that day as he bought his own pack of Marlboros, and he had vowed to quit again as soon as his wife was better.

  Evan watched Plutes step into his cat box, as gingerly as a twenty-pound cat could, and turn around several times before choosing the right square centimeter of litter box real estate on which to deposit his morning pee. Evan blew smoke rings as he watched the cat check to make sure he had, in fact, urinated, and then step out of the box, shaking grit from his feet onto the deck.

  “That’s okay, I’ll get that,” Evan said quietly, as the cat jumped up onto one of the built-in lockers. “You putz.”

  He turned to crush out his cigarette in the ashtray and saw The Muffin Girl coming down the dock, a canvas tote in each hand. He leaned on the rail and watched her come.

  Although he now knew her to be Sarah, for the first two months he’d lived there he’d thought of her as The Muffin Girl because every Sunday morning she delivered the paper and a home-baked muffin, compliments of the marina.

  She was a tiny little thing, about five-two and less than a hundred pounds. She reminded him of some kind of punk fairy, with her spiky, short black hair and her various piercings. Normally clad in cutoffs and old tee shirts, she looked particularly small today, in baggy black sweatpants and a bright pink Victoria’s Secret hoodie. Although her father was an infamous meth cooker and every male in her family had done time, she was a nice kid. At seventeen, she was on her own, and did odd jobs around the marina, like hosing down the docks, delivering papers, and stocking shelves in the small marina store. In exchange, aside from minimum wage, she lived rent-free on a small sailboat and got three meals a day at the Dockside Grill. Evan doubted that she ate much.

  “Hey,” she said as she approached, in a high, breathy voice that always surprised him.

  “Hey,” he said back.

  “Hey, Plutes,” she said to the cat, who had jumped down to the dive platform at the sound of her voice.

  “Are you keeping warm over there?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. “I’ve got a new space heater.” She caught his look. “Don’t worry, it’s one of those infrared ones. It’s cool.”

  “You want to sit?”

  She looked down at her high-top sneakers. “I would, but it would be a pain to take these off.”

  “It’s okay,” he told her. He wondered why it was okay when it never was with anyone else.

  Evan watched her as she came aboard, and up the steps to the aft deck. She flopped down in one of the rattan chairs, dropping the totes on the deck. Plutes jumped down and went to her, winding himself around her ankles. Evan wanted to throw up. The cat never so much as sat next to him, much less twirled around his legs.

  Sarah leaned over and heaved the cat up onto her lap. “Don’t you wonder why he never talks?” she asked.

  “No. He’s a cat. He can’t speak.”

  She tossed him a look, but it was tempered with a little grin. “No, I mean he never meows or anything.” She blinked as Plutes dragged his tail across her face.

  Evan had noticed, but he’d figured the cat just didn’t have anything to say to him.

  “Maybe you should take him to the vet,” Sarah said, spitting a fluff of black hair from her lower lip.

  “I took him last month. For his shots,” Evan said. “The vet didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “No,” Evan answered, a little defensively.

  “Tell him next time,” she said.

  “Okay, Mom.” He drained his coffee. “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I only drink tea.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “That’s okay, I already had some.” Plutes jumped down and padded over to the rail where he settled to the deck and watched her. Sarah pulled a blueberry muffin wrapped in plastic out of her tote. “Here.”

  He took it, though he seldom ate the muffins. “Thank you.”

  He watched her reach into the other bag. He was her last stop, and the only paper left was his. It was wrapped in a rubber band. Even on Sundays, the paper was thin.

  He took the paper from her, gave her half a smile as he pulled the rubber band off. “Let’s see what we have today,” he said, as she watched him expectantly. He unrolled the paper. Inside was a small piece of paper, a handwritten note on a marina notepad.

  “Have you ever accidentally given this to the wrong person?” he asked. He already knew he was the only one who got the additional insert.

  “Nope. I always put a red rubber band on yours,” she said.

  “Ah.” He unfurled the note and read it out loud. “Consider the blameless, observe the upright, a future awaits those who seek peace. Psalm 37:37.” He looked over at her and gave her what he hoped was a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

  “It made me think of you, ’cause you need some peace.”

  “Do I?” he asked her. It was a silly question. Even he knew he needed some kind of respite. He knew he was just being coy.

  “Don’t you?” she asked.

  Evan nodded at her as he folded the note and tucked it into his pocket.

  “I know you probably throw those away, but I just feel like you need a good word here and there,” she said, shrugging. “I heard about that guy that got stabbed in the park,” she said. “That sucks.”

  Evan didn’t bother asking how she heard; he’d seen the front page. Somebody always talked to the press. “Yeah, it does. He had a wife and two little girls.”

  Sarah sighed, a large sigh for such a tiny body. “You know how the Bible says God is so patient?” He gave a noncommittal nod. “You know how I know it’s true? ’Cause if I was God, this whole show would have been over a long time ago. I know you’ve seen all kinds of terrible stuff. I can’t imagine what it’s like for Him to see all of it. I’d be done,” she added with a snap of her fingers.

  Evan nodded at her. He’d never thought about it. She reached over and gave Plutes a quick rub, then stood and brushed at the fur that coated her sweats, to no effect at all.

  “I gotta go. One of the prep cooks called out, so I gotta go slice tomatoes and stuff.” She picked up her empty totes. “You off today?”

  Evan shrugged one shoulder; he didn’t really know the answer to that question.

  “You gonna go see your wife?”

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  She nodded as she walked past him and hopped to the dock. “I pray for her all the time.”

  Evan swallowed hard. “What do you pray?”

  He didn’t know Sarah well, but one of the thing
s he liked about her was that she was completely frank, and unapologetic about it. Artifice wasn’t natural for her, and he watched her struggle with it now, biting the corner of her lip.

  “That you’ll both have healing,” she said. “I’ll see you around.”

  He nodded a goodbye and watched her a moment as she walked back up the dock. Plutes had nothing left on the aft deck to interest him, and he walked inside, tail standing straight up, like a burnt but intact mast.

  Evan followed him inside, leaving the glass door propped open. He walked over to a built-in teak cabinet, opened the wooden box that sat on top, and put the folded notepaper inside with the others.

  Sunset Bay was located on the eastern edge of town, nestled between a park and a tennis club. A long, winding driveway curled between neatly trimmed lawns and flowerbeds that were a riot of colors at any time of the year. In the middle of a parklike setting, not unlike that of the Buck Griffin crime scene, was a small man-made lake. In the middle of that, a fountain sent a circular spray of water that arched back downward and hit the water with a sound like gentle rain.

  There were several black iron benches positioned around the lake, but no one sat on them. It was a cool morning, and Evan rarely saw anyone sitting by the water.

  Evan parked in front of the main building, a two-story, vaguely Mediterranean structure that could have been a country club or a decent hotel. On either side of it were neatly organized clusters of one-story buildings that contained six apartments each, as well as a small nurse’s station to serve them. They were costly, but the care and attention at Sunset Bay were costly, too, and cut no corners. The apartments were a pleasant compromise for seniors who were well enough to live on their own, but well off enough to not have to.

  Evan crossed the elegant lobby of the main building, past deep red clusters of seating and original oils of the Florida Panhandle, his heels clicking solidly on the herringbone floor. He nodded at the security guard who no longer asked him to check in, then took the elevator up one floor.

  He emerged into a scene far different from the neatly decorated apartments in the other buildings. This environment was just as thoughtfully decorated, but clearly a hospital floor. He said hello back to a young blonde nurse who passed him in the hallway, then pushed open the door to Room 209.

  Pale yellow shades were drawn against the powerful, late morning sun, casting the room in a golden light. The cherry dresser against one wall glittered in the diffused sunshine, and the seascape hanging above it seemed to try to bring the outdoors in, even as the shades kept the outdoors out.

  There was a small cherry table next to an upholstered chair. The mauve velvet upholstery matched the mauve coverlet on the hospital bed. Evan walked to it, stood with his hands on the rail.

  Hannah seemed paler than she had just a day ago, her almost perfect skin a jarring contrast to her dark brown hair, cut in a shaggy pixie. On the little end table, a silver-framed photograph of the two of them on a cruise showed her wearing the same hairstyle, though she’d grown it out quite a bit before her accident. He appreciated the effort to give her a haircut she might like.

  Despite the fact that she’d lost at least twenty pounds from her tall, already slim frame, despite the gray shadows beneath her eyes and the lack of color to her lips, she was still a beautiful woman. At thirty-six, she had just started developing little laugh lines at the corner of her mouth, small furrows between her eyes, but they were gone now.

  Her lips weren’t as chapped as they had been when she’d had the ventilator. They’d given her a tracheotomy not long ago, in the interest of minimizing damage to her throat, and the tube that ran to it was covered by a small square of white dressing. He appreciated that, too.

  He walked around the bed, lifted the paper shade a bit for his own mental health, and sat down in the chair, his black suit trousers making a quiet swish as he put his right foot on his left knee. He noticed his shoes needed a good buffing, but there was an identical pair in his closet that was ready to go.

  He looked up at the face of his wife of five short years. “So, I’ve put your cat on a clean food diet,” he said conversationally. “Have you ever read the ingredients list on cat food? It’s ridiculous to pay that much for garbage, and he throws it all up, anyway. But, clearly, I haven’t tossed him overboard, as I’m sure you would have expected.”

  Evan already wanted a cigarette, although the need was probably just to get outside, away. It disappointed him.

  “Caught a new case. A homicide,” he said after a moment of silence that would have been awkward with anyone else. “The guy had a wife waiting at home, two little girls. Next of kin visits don’t get any easier.”

  In fact, Evan thought they’d gotten harder since he’d had one of his own. He’d just finished testifying on one of his cases when he’d gotten the call to go to the hospital. He remembered his head spinning, his feet and fingers becoming tingly and then numb as he’d listened to the ER doctor talking. Swelling of the brain, hematomas, aneurysms, clots. It had gotten worse later that night when she’d gone from plain unconsciousness to coma. All because she’d stepped at the wrong moment, foot poised over the water, someone’s wake causing the boat to rock, and she’d fallen. Hit her head precisely just so on the edge of the dock.

  Her boyfriend, Shayne, was a complete surprise, sitting at one end of the waiting area while Evan sat at the other. He still visited once a month or so, but never when Evan was present. Her mom, who lived across the state, had stopped coming. It was just too hard, and she had done her mourning.

  Evan shook himself out of his own head and quietly told Hannah about the cleaning he needed to do on the brightwork, as soon as it warmed up again. That he’d found a new favorite hot sauce, a locally-made brand called Ed’s Red. How funny it was that sleeping with her had been such an adjustment, but now he found it difficult to sleep alone. He told her about the Carjacker Whacker and the fish he’d prepared for him and Plutes the night before, and how cold it had been when he’d gone out to the aft deck for his ritual golden milk before bed.

  He didn’t mention that his last cigarette of the night was part of the ritual, although, if asked, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why. Not with any real conviction.

  After another thirty minutes of searching for new things to say, Evan stood, bent over the bed rail to kiss Hannah’s cool, dry forehead, and got out of there before her doctor could come by to gently remind him that decisions needed to be made.

  SEVEN

  BY THE TIME EVAN got back to town, it was midafternoon. Most of the after-church lunch rush was winding down, but when he pulled into the Dockside Grill, it was still packed. When he walked to the back, he saw that there was some kind of party going on. Through the windows, he could see every table occupied, nearly every inch of floor space crowded. Old couples in church clothes tottered back and forth between tables, nearly tripping over young children. Teenagers huddled in conspiratorial clusters in the booths, whispering and giggling. Proud parents with weary but resplendent smiles bounced wriggly little bundles. Evan guessed it must be a family reunion, or maybe an anniversary.

  He was starving but lost all touch with that sensation. The crowd wasn’t what killed his appetite. A deeper hunger had replaced it. He felt like he was looking into a snow globe, like he was seeing the promise of a perfect world where every child had two parents, where life is long, and tears are few, where every old man was a grandfather and there were no widows. Or orphans. Where there was no beautiful young wife shriveling in a hospital bed because her husband wasn’t what she needed him to be.

  Anything can look ideal from outside the glass; Evan knew this. Snow globes and Thomas Kinkade paintings only look perfect because they are fake. But poor sleep combined with his job and his daily visits to Hannah were conspiring to make him feel morose. He had a tendency to let himself slide into a little depression, but he was rarely maudlin or fatalistic. He needed to start sleeping again.

  He noticed Benny beh
ind the bar, flipping glassware and flashing his infectious smile. A slim black man with long, throwback sideburns, the barman was halfway through his junior year, going for his Masters in elementary education. With his charisma and spirit, he would make a great teacher. The kid was Port St. Joe born and bred, and Evan usually enjoyed his stories about the area and his corny jokes; they were usually just what he needed after a long day.

  Dockside was just too crowded today, too boisterous and noisy. He turned around and walked back to his Pilot before Benny saw him, and drove back out to Monument. He hung a right, then crossed the busy main drag to pull into Krazyfish.

  The place looked like a beachside bar that someone had accidentally left on Monument Avenue, with its bright turquoise exterior, multicolored tables and chairs, and a patio for eating outside. After parking, he looked up at the restaurant windows. Inside, Jordan Scruggs was waiting tables. Evan groaned.

  He had heard good things about Krazyfish, but he’d never actually eaten there. Jordan was one of the reasons why. He had promised her dying father that he would keep an eye on her and her daughter, Avery. The guy, Scruggs, had built up quite a reputation and criminal record for himself but had decided, on the brink of extinction, that he should probably try to do something good. He’d been a help in the investigation of Sheriff Hutchens’ death, and Evan hadn’t had the heart to decline when he asked Evan to keep an eye on Jordan and her baby.

  This put him in the middle of an ongoing custody dispute, which was less than heartwarming. More importantly, Jordan also tended to be a bit more expressive than Evan was comfortable with. She was a very pretty girl, but she was only in her early twenties, and Evan had no interest at all, wouldn’t have even if he was single. She’d misconstrued his willingness to keep his promise to her father, tried to install Evan as her new go-to guy for anything from emotional support to babysitting. He had put a stop to that, with extreme prejudice, but still felt like he had to have his personal shields at maximum whenever she was within touching distance.