Because we live so close to downtown Webster Groves, which has a bona fide city center, foot traffic was brisk. Tonight clusters of costumed figures whirled around us, carefully avoiding where Gracie was doing her part to ruin our environment. Ghosts, witches, Ghostbusters, political figures, little devils, angels, ballerinas, and unidentifiable creatures of the night trudged down the sidewalks on both sides of the street.
A loud trio of teenage boys stalked toward us, wearing street clothes and frightening masks. Erik instinctively hugged my leg. Ty’s little eyes widened in wonder. Gracie was finishing up, but was still in the throes of answering her body’s demands. I grew uneasy as the boys invaded my personal space.
“Your money or your life,” a gruff voice demanded, from behind a V for Vendetta mask.
I did my best to laugh. Erik gripped me more tightly. “Right.”
But the Vendetta character moved in so close that I felt his moist breath on my face. “What’s wrong with you, lady? You deaf? Hand over your money and do it now.” Behind him the other two boys laughed nervously. When I hesitated, one of them said, “He’s got a knife. You don’t want to mess with him.”
A corresponding flash of silver cut through the night air. It was dusk and darkening fast, but the gleam of metal confirmed what the kid was telling me. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. All around us, people wandered aimlessly, unaware of the trouble I was in. To a casual onlooker, it might seem that a tall costumed figure had waved a toy weapon at me.
Blood really does run cold when you are scared out of your wits. My teeth chattered involuntarily and I couldn’t move my mouth to speak. A tug at the end of the leash suggested that Gracie was still straining. Usually her presence is enough to deter any problems I might encounter. Perhaps feeling the stress course through my body or because he was sandwiched between me and the Vendetta guy, Ty made a tiny mewling sound. For a minute, I felt my knees go weak. I also felt the tug of Gracie’s retractable leash. She was far enough away from us while doing her business that the boys didn’t realize the threat she posed.
“I didn’t carry any money with me.”
“Then you can give me your ring,” he said.
“You really don’t want to do this,” I countered. “My husband is a cop.”
The young man threw back his head—which caused his mask to move up slightly—and brayed with laughter. “Hear that? How stupid can you get? How’s he going to find us, huh?”
A low growl signaled that Gracie was on the case. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her trot around the back of the maple tree. In the shadows, she probably hadn’t been spotted yet.
“You really don’t want to do this,” I repeated. “I have a Great Dane. A really big animal. My dog will take you down. She’ll snap your neck.”
The words were no sooner out of my mouth than Gracie lunged for my attacker. Her growl sounded ferocious, but it was her size that made her intimidating. When she’s on her back legs, she’s taller than most full-grown men. First she jumped forward, and then she popped up on her hind legs. Her blocky head reared above the Vendetta guy as she snarled and snapped. His friends took off, scattering like autumn leaves. Vendetta backed away and promptly tripped over a ground-hugging tree root. When he hit the dirt, I yanked Gracie toward me. I didn’t want her to get stabbed.
At the same time, I scooped Erik up and onto one hip. “Help!” I screamed. “Help me, please!”
Vendetta scrambled to his feet. Momentum propelled him backwards. One of his hands brushed at his jeans while the other adjusted his mask. Two steps and then he whirled and ran away.
My legs had turned to mush. Feeling like I was walking on two sticks of jelly, I carried a sobbing Erik and a wailing Ty back to our house with Gracie trotting along in tow.
~*~
An hour later, I was at the police station, waiting to identify my attacker in a line-up. Detweiler’s face loomed over me as I grabbed the sides of a chair. “You sure you’re okay to do this?” he asked.
“Yes. While the memory is fresh. But he was wearing a mask! I might not be able to pick him out of a crowd,” I admitted.
“Do your best.” My husband patted my shoulder. “Remember he’s already been IDed by another family. Stupid kid tried the same stunt on them, and the husband tore off the mask and tackled this creep to the ground. But your corroboration will put him away much longer. Take your time. Brawny called me and the kids are having a terrific evening going around with Anya and her pal Nikki.”
After I’d returned to the house, Brawny and I decided that Erik needed a distraction. We didn’t want him to be scared of Halloween forever. If we let him cower, Halloween night or any person in a mask would always provoke fear in the little boy’s heart. Quick-thinking Brawny phoned Anya. The teen was knocking on doors with her best friend, Nikki Moore. When she heard what had transpired, Anya offered to take Erik and Ty along, so the evening would have a pleasant resolution.
Hearing that all three of my children were not only fine but happy gave me the strength to concentrate on the job at hand. “Good,” I said, running my hands up and down the tops of my thighs. “Good. Okay. Right. I’m ready.” Getting to my feet, I waited for the curtain to part so I could view the line up through the two-way window.
I stared at seven young men. They turned. They spoke a threatening phrase. I thought I knew which person was my attacker, but I wasn’t 100% sure. I felt Detweiler’s eyes watching me. Yes, I’d like to put this creep away, but he’d worn a mask. The latex had muffled his voice and disguised his features. I could not bring myself to point at any of the seven. My heart clogged my throat as tears prickled my eyes.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Detweiler said, and put a meaty hand on my shoulder. “If you can’t, you can’t. I’ll send them away.” He flicked an intercom button and said the show was over.
I stared as the young men shuffled toward the side door. They didn’t break ranks. One after another moved forward slowly. When the turn to exit came for Suspect #4, I saw Suspect #5 flinch and hold his nose.
“That’s it!” I jumped out of my seat. “That’s it! Stop! I know who did it! It’s the one with dog poop on his pants!”
--The End--
Joanna Campbell Slan is the national bestselling and award-winning author of thirty books, as well as being a contributor to many of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. When she isn’t walking the beach with her Havanese pup, Jax, she’s writing books for one of her three mysteries series and building dollhouses. Joanna and her husband David live on Jupiter Island, Florida.
Visit her website, JoannaSlan.com. You can read two of Joanna’s books for free by going to http://bit.ly/teardownanddie and http://bit.ly/inkreddead.
~*~
~ Our Happy Homicides 4 Gift to You ~
We appreciate your interest in our work, and so we have a special gift for you. If you send us an email to [email protected], we’ll automatically send you a file with recipes and craft tutorials that go along with the stories in this book. In addition, we’ll add you to our mailing lists at no charge so you can keep up with future offerings, such as free books, discounted books, contests, and short stories.
If you have any trouble accessing the free bonus, contact our assistant, Sally Lippert, at [email protected]
All best from your friends,
Happy Homicides
~*~
About Happy Homicides…
Happy Homicides 1: Thirteen Cozy Holiday Mysteries quickly became an Amazon bestseller. Readers told us they liked being able to sample so many authors in one, reasonably-priced volume. Buy it here: https://amzn.com/B015D1E6TQ
Happy Homicides 2: Thirteen Cozy Mysteries/Crimes of the Heart followed the format of the first edition: multiple authors, cozy mysteries, affordable price. We released it on Valentine’s Day 2016, with the theme of love gone wrong. Buy it here: https://amzn.com/B01B3FKGOU
Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes features stories about crimes tak
ing place during summer. Bad behavior doesn’t care one bit about the calendar, does it? Whatever the season, people will find a reason to commit murder and mayhem! This volume came out before Memorial Day 2016, perfect for reading on the beach. Buy it here: https://amzn.com/B01FZYXZQQ
BONUS - Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes
HAPPY HOMICIDES 3:
Summertime Crimes
~*~
Joanna Campbell Slan
Linda Gordon Hengerer
Margaret Lucke
Nancy Jill Thames
Teresa Trent
Maggie Toussaint
C.A. Verstraete
Randy Rawls
Terry Ambrose
Jeffery Marks
Deborah Sharp
~*~
~ Our Happy Homicides 3 Gift to You ~
We appreciate your interest in our work, and so we have a special gift for you. If you send us an email to [email protected], we’ll automatically send you a file with recipes and craft tutorials that go along with the stories in this book. In addition, we’ll add you to our mailing lists at no charge so you can keep up with future offerings, such as free books, discounted books, contests, and short stories.
If you have any trouble accessing the free bonus, contact our assistant, Sally Lippert, at [email protected]
All best from your friends,
Happy Homicides
About cozy mysteries…
A “cozy” is a nickname for a traditional mystery, much like those written by the great Agatha Christie. Usually—but not always—a cozy is solved by an amateur sleuth, and the puzzle is “fair play.” That means there’s a possibility the reader could figure out “whodunit,” given both the clues and the relationships involved. Cozies generally avoid graphic sex, graphic violence, and foul language. In other words, they are “clean” reads.
About Happy Homicides 3…
The first book in our anthology series—Happy Homicides 1: Thirteen Cozy Holiday Mysteries—quickly became an Amazon bestseller. Readers told us they liked being able to sample so many authors in one, reasonably-priced volume.
Happy Homicides 2: Thirteen Cozy Mysteries/Crimes of the Heart followed the format of the first edition: multiple authors, cozy mysteries, affordable price. We released it on Valentine’s Day 2016, with the theme of love gone wrong.
Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes stories about crimes taking place during summer. Bad behavior doesn’t care one bit about the calendar, does it? Whatever the season, people will find a reason to commit murder and mayhem!
~*~
Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crime * Copyright © 2016 – 2nd Edition
Cara Mia Delgatto and the Empty Nest: A Cara Mia Delgatto Short Story * Copyright © 2016 by Joanna Campbell Slan, all rights reserved;
Dying for Graduation Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Short Story * Copyright © 2016 by Linda Gordon Hengerer, all rights reserved;
A Fair Day for Murder: A Jess Randolph Mystery * Copyright © 2016 by Margaret Lucke, all rights reserved.
Birthday Bash: A Jillian Bradley Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Jill Thames, all rights reserved;
The Dog Days of Murder: A Pecan Bayou Series Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Teresa Trent, all rights reserved;
Turtle Tribbles * Copyright © 2016 by Maggie Toussaint, all rights reserved;
Surf’s Up * Copyright © 2016 by C.A. Verstraete, all rights reserved;
A Simple Case of Stalking: A Jonathan Boykin Short Story * Copyright © 2016 by Randy Rawls, all rights reserved;
Murder on Front Street: A Trouble in Paradise Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Terry Ambrose, all rights reserved;
Short Order Dead * Copyright © 2016 by Jeffery Marks, all rights reserved;
Bubba Trouble: A Mace and Mama Short Mystery * Copyright © 2016 by Deborah Sharp, all rights reserved;
Kiki Lowenstein and the Shark Bait: A Kiki Lowenstein Short Story * Copyright © 2011 by Joanna Campbell Slan, all rights reserved.
Cover art and the logo “Happy Homicides” are the property of Spot On Publishing, 9307 SE Olympus Street, Hobe Sound, FL 33455 USA
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ vivid imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Front Cover: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs www.wickedsmartdesigns.com
Cara Mia Delgatto and the Empty Nest: A Cara Mia Delgatto Short Story
By Joanna Campbell Slan
Editor’s Note: In a continuation of the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series, Cara and her cantankerous grandfather Poppy dig deep to discover who is selling endangered turtle eggs on Florida’s swanky Treasure Coast.
Chapter 1
My grandfather is not a man who is often speechless. However, on this particular August morning, his mouth chewed the thick air and no sound came out. Not even a peep.
A sliver of sun cast a golden sheen on the purple-blue of the water. Low hanging clumps of clouds obscured most of the light. But the rising of that bright orb would conquer the darkness. Already a crescendo of chirping birds heralded a new day. We’d decided to claim our fishing spot early. Walking in the dark, carrying our poles and buckets, we’d trudged along in the sand, pulling a cooler behind.
In the pre-dawn, we couldn’t see more than a foot or two in front of us. That’s how we snuck up on the shadow that went racing away from the carnage. At first, I thought we’d flushed out a critter. Maybe even a bobcat. But the grunts and indistinct muttering raised goosebumps on my arms—and I realized that Poppy and I had startled either a very, very big critter or a person in the act of robbing a turtle’s nest.
“How do you want to handle this?” I finally broke the silence.
Poppy and I stood at the edge of a pit. Even in the half-light I could see the damage. Sand had been thrown up. Broken pieces of shells tossed aside. A webbed leg here. A sightless head there. Dark yellow strands of yolk congealed against the white sand.
“Call the authorities.” The words came out of Poppy like a wad of spit. A torrent of curses followed.
Fortunately, I have the Jupiter Island Department of Public Safety phone number in my cell phone directory, so a quick push of a button connected me to the switchboard operator. After her greeting, I explained, “I’m standing on the sand, about six houses north of the public beach. Someone or some creature has dug up a nest of sea turtle eggs. I guess we surprised him and he ran off.”
The woman answering the phone asked my name, a few particulars, and gently quizzed me.
“I’m Cara Mia Delgatto. I’m calling from the beach where I am with my grandfather, Dick Potter,” and I gave her my street address on Jupiter Island.
She double-checked the spelling of our names and asked, “What makes you think the eggs have been dug up?”
“I am standing over a hole. There are bits of broken shells with parts of baby turtles left inside. Emphasis on the parts. I doubt that any are alive. Their flippers are separated from their bodies.”
Poppy grabbed the phone from my hands. “It weren’t an animal. We done flushed out a person.”
“Don’t touch them,” she warned us both. “It’s against the law.”
After I ended the call, Poppy and I stared down into the mess that had once been a turtle nest. Portions of the tiny babies, so vulnerable and small, littered the wet granular surface.
“Do you suppose it was a possum? A raccoon?” I knelt down next to my grandfather. We both stared into the hole. We’d decided to spend the morning fishing, but now neither of us had the stomach for the sport. Our poles rested on the ground next to us, propped up against the red
cooler that Poppy had outfitted with a pair of comically huge wheels. Thanks to his ingenuity, the cooler rolled merrily over the sand, assuring us that we could lunch later on cold drinks and sandwiches.
But I doubted we’d stick around and enjoy our picnic. The sight of the torn up nest was too gruesome, too sad.
“Whatever we happened upon was big. A small person or a big animal. I’m betting on a person. A possum or raccoon wouldn’t have struck with such a sharp edge. See? These little ones were cut cleanly. That one there was sliced in half. Prob’ly by a shovel.” He shook his head slowly.
For a minute I thought I’d be sick. But I swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on gulping mouthfuls of the fresh salt air. “Okay, so it was a human who did this, and it was intentional. But what about the beach patrol? How did the perpetrator evade Lucas? He’s the guy who rides that ATV up and down the beach.”
“His hours are regular. You can set a clock by him. Iff’n I wanted to get past him, I’d hide in the sea oats while it was still dark. After he went by, I’d hop out and start digging. I’d use one of them there shovels that’s got a telescopic handle on it. That away I could hide the digger under my shirt easy-peasy.”
I sighed. “But why? This is wanton destruction, Poppy. I can understand someone killing a full grown turtle. Their shells are gorgeous. There’s probably a market for them. But these are babies! Why take them?”
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 58