“Maybe it was kids. Doing mischief. Or teens being jerks.” Poppy got to his feet and rubbed a fist against his eyes. “Good gracious above. Why does anyone do such harm, one to another? Gives me a belly-ache. I done been through war and watching what humans do in the name of God and justice, and I can tell you, granddaughter, I still can’t explain what moves us to sink lower than the lowest creature that crawls this here earth. I surely cannot.”
Chapter 2
Poppy has never told me how he served our country during the war. In fact, I’m not even sure which war he was in. I’ve always assumed it was the Second World War, but it might have been Korea. Mom was pretty tightly buttoned-up about her dad’s career as an enlisted man.
Now I opened my mouth to ask a couple of questions, and Poppy deftly changed the subject.
He clamped his jaw shut in such a way to suggest the topic was taboo. I asked him questions, and he snarled, “How come you’re so all fired interested all of a sudden?”
I didn’t have a good answer for that, and I said as much.
While he paced the sand, I pulled an oilcloth sit-upon out of my backpack and sat down. My fingers worried the cheap acrylic yarn I’d used to sew the edges of the cushion together. Despite the fact I’d made it back when I was a Brownie in Girl Scouts, the sit-upon was still useful. It occurred to me as I stroked the smooth finish that perhaps we could do something similar at my store, The Treasure Chest, for an upcoming Crafty Kids session. I’d initiated the Crafty Kids classes as a way to get local children and their parents into my shop and keep the cash register ringing over the summer when business was slow.
While I was pondering where I’d buy oilcloth, the sound of tires crunching gravel suggested that the Jupiter Island police had responded to our call.
In short order, a young cop took our names. A second car pulled up and an older cop quickly joined the first responder. The older man did a walk-around of the scene while the younger guy jotted down details about our discovery.
“Why on earth would someone do something like this?” I wondered out loud.
“Over here!” The older cop waved us to his side. He pointed at something half-swallowed by the sand.
“A shoe,” said the younger man, squatting by a solitary canvas slip-on. “But there’s no way of knowing if the creep left it behind.”
“Not true,” said Poppy. “It’s damp. See how the sand is stuck to it? How the fabric is darker closer to the sole? There’s a streak of goo across the toe. That’s from the broken eggs. Might even have blood on it somewhere. This has to be fresh.”
The younger cop ran to his car to grab a camera.
“Why would anyone do this?” I said.
“Beats me.” The policeman was clean shaven, with dark hair barely long enough not to be a buzz cut. With his heavy utility belt and Wayfarer sunglasses, he had an aura of cool about him, an obvious attempt to counterbalance his youth.
A roar off in the distance alerted us that the man on the ATV was heading back our way. Soon we were joined by Lucas, the biologist hired by the Town of Jupiter Island. He recognized Poppy and me immediately, and a round of greetings followed.
Lucas Petrovsky is much worn and sunburned by hours on the beach in all sorts of weather. His white beard helps protect his skin from sun exposure. A floppy brimmed hat further shades his face. Flip down sunshades cover up his bifocals. When removed, the sunglasses reveal a keenly intelligent gaze. His eyes zeroed in first on the damaged pit and then moved to us.
“Daggonit.” He huffed and climbed off the vehicle without pausing to introduce himself. “What a mess.”
“How many eggs do you reckon were destroyed?” asked my grandfather.
“On average, they lay about 110. Some as few as 50. Most of the nests we see around here are at least one hundred. Only one in a thousand makes it to adulthood.”
That sickened me. The odds were so weighted against these tiny creatures, and now this particular nest had been ruined. “Is there any chance we’re only looking at a top layer? Perhaps there’s another layer that got away without being harmed.”
“Look, I can take it from here if you have somewhere you need to be—” began the young cop.
“Nope. We can wait.”
As we watched, the beach patrol worker shifted through the wreckage that had once been a turtle’s nest. As disgusted as I felt, I still wanted to see what would happen next. Would any of the eggs be salvaged? Was it possible that Poppy and I were wrong and the perpetrator was an animal of the four-legged variety and not a two-legged varmint?
The beach patrol officer photographed the scene. Then he counted the eggs, sifted through the wreckage, bagged up the debris, and carefully covered the rest of the nest.
“Is there anything left?” I asked.
Poppy had stood over the pile of sand the whole time, glaring and swearing.
“Hard to tell. I don’t want to disturb the nest more than what’s already been done. See, the temperature of the sand determines the sex of the hatchlings. If I move the eggs, that might throw off the balance of male to female babies. Obviously, that’s not a good idea. On the other hand, if I leave the broken bits here, that’ll attract more natural predators, like the possums and raccoons, so I can’t do that. The challenge is striking a balance.” With a sun freckled hand, he scrubbed at his bearded chin. “I reckon we’ve lost a third to a half of this nest at least. Possibly up to ninety percent. But digging around will only disturb the eggs that might still make it.”
The crackle of a radio on the cop’s utility belt broke the silence of the morning air. A gull squawked overhead, swooping close enough to cast a shadow over Poppy’s shoulders. With a shiver, I realized he was hoping for a nice scrambled egg breakfast, until we’d ruined his chances.
“We prob’ly ruined any footprints you could have taken.” Poppy glanced back the way we’d come. The boardwalk ended sixty feet to our right. As the sun chased away the morning gloom, and my eyes had gotten adjusted to the half-light, I could see how we’d churned up the sand. Poppy was right. As I looked around us in a tight circle, I couldn’t make out any well-defined footprints. Just kicked up and pushed aside sand.
“I’m bagging the shoe.” The older cop smiled at Poppy. “You’re right. It has to belong to our creep. There’s wet blood on it. He must have lost it when the two of you happened on him.”
“Was anyone parked in the lot when you arrived?” The young cop lowered his sunglasses a tad so he could glare at us.
“Nope,” I said.
“Nope,” Poppy echoed.
“Or pulling out?” the man added with a hopeful lilt.
“Huh-uh,” I said.
“Huh-uh,” Poppy reinforced.
“Why would someone have done this?” I asked the beach patrol guy. “Mischief? Meanness?”
He shrugged.
I rubbed my upper arms. The moist air hinted at dampness, but as soon as the sun rose over the horizon, the cool would turn to muggy heat. “Poppy? You still want to go fishing?”
“I guess.” He tugged at the handle of the red cooler. “Come on. Let’s go down there by them rocks.”
Picking up our poles, shouldering a backpack with my Kindle and sunblock, I grabbed up my sit-upon and followed him.
But the luster had definitely worn off the morning.
Chapter 3
A few days later, I parked my black Camry in front of the newly rehabilitated Apollo School, the historic two-room schoolhouse in what was then called Olympia, but is now called Hobe Sound. Built in 1925 in the architectural style of Addison Mizner, the school served the residents who lived immediately west of Jupiter Island until that population outgrew the facility. In 2000, the Apollo School Foundation purchased the building to rehabilitate it and open it for use as a historical museum and cultural arts and educational facility. In 2002, the building was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the only building in Hobe Sound to be so named.
“I’m Kathy,�
� said an attractive woman with bright eyes that beamed with intensity. “I’m the president of the foundation. Thank you for taking the time to come and visit with us, Ms. Delgatto.”
“My pleasure. My friend Honora McAfee suggested that I contact you about upcoming fundraisers. We’re always happy to make donations for worthwhile causes. It gives us a chance to showcase my store, The Treasure Chest, while helping out the community.”
Kathy gave me a quick tour of the property while she outlined the events they were planning for the future. “In fact, we have an art auction this Friday. We’ve invited local artists to recycle the original windows from the building. Attendees will bid on the windows and other items. We’ll also have a silent auction.”
In short order, I agreed to bring one of our spa baskets to the event. I also purchased a half dozen tickets for my staff members. My father always used to say, “Good works is good business.” Although Kathy and I couldn’t immediately come up with a way to work together, I felt like I’d made a good impression on her.
Best of all, I’d made a new contact. Kathy had grown up in Hobe Sound and now lived on Jupiter Island.
“How has the place changed since you were a child?” I asked.
“Do you have a couple of hours to spare?” A grin told me she was teasing.
“That much?”
“Yes and no. Jupiter Island is a special place. The residents have worked hard and spent a lot of money to keep it the paradise we all love.”
“Speaking of which,” and I told her about the sea turtle eggs I’d found that were plundered.
“That’s terrible, but it’s not surprising. You do know that in certain cultures, the eggs are considered an aphrodisiac, right? Yes, it’s true. To the Japanese, sea turtles symbolize longevity and happiness. For the Chinese, they are a symbol of life, good luck and protection. The Hindus worship sea turtles as an incarnation of one of their gods. In Indonesia and Mexico, sea turtles are recognized as the ancestors of various tribes. But here on Jupiter Island, we see them as our sacred responsibility. We are their caretakers. I certainly hope they can figure out who dug up that nest and prosecute him or her.”
“I do too.”
Chapter 4
Two weeks later, Poppy and I presented our tickets to an attendant at the door of the Apollo School. As she took them and waved us inside, I snapped my fingers to the music of a reggae band set up on the school’s lawn.
Kathy greeted us with a happy smile. “Cara, good to see you. Dick, how are you? What are you doing to keep busy these days?”
While they got caught up, I wandered up and down the wide aisle where the refurbished windows were on display. Each artist brought a different vision to the project, turning the glass gables into showcases. As Kathy moved to greet more attendees, Poppy and I walked through the school and out to where a large white tent had been set up.
From a far corner, Honora waved. Poppy and I headed for the table where she sat. “EveLynn is at the bar, getting soft drinks for us. Did you pick up any of the hors d’oeuvres? They have a great selection.”
Since my stomach rumbled loudly, I headed out in the direction she indicated. Poppy came with me, and we filled our plates. He stayed to get us soft drinks while I carried our food back to the table. After weaving my way through the many groups of laughing, chattering people, I stopped in my tracks. Lucas, the ATV guy, had joined our happy crowd at the table.
“Hey, buddy.” I put down my plate and shook his hand. Lucas had been at my side when I stumbled over an illegal alien who had washed up on the beach, and we’d become friends. “How are you? How’s the turtle nesting going?”
Because Jupiter Island pays Lucas to count and track the number of turtle nestings, he’s a wealth of information. While I ate, he merrily talked about what he’d seen. We learned the turtles had returned to their native home in droves, as the females came back to their birthplaces to lay eggs. Of course, I asked him if there was any news about the empty nest that Poppy and I had found.
Lucas didn’t get the chance to respond because EveLynn showed up to claim her chair. EveLynn has Asperger’s, so she has no people skills. None. Zip. She dug into her food with gusto, ignoring all of us. However, her mother is as gregarious as she is anti-social. Honora introduced herself to Lucas and quickly picked up happier threads of the conversation.
“Look,” said Lucas, “here are pictures I snapped of the turtles mating in the shallows.” Lucas scrolled through photos on his phone before passing it around.
“Turtle porn is not very exciting,” I said after looking at the pictures. “At least from what you’ve shown us. All I can see is two turtles swimming around.”
“Might not be exciting to us, but it works for them.” Lucas winked. “You gotta remember these babies weigh an average of 300 pounds. That’s a whole lot of frolic.”
We all chuckled at that until an older woman tapped Honora on the shoulder. “Hello, old friend!”
Honora introduced Barbara Melano. “Barbara, and I have known each other for years. Absolute eons. Barbara lives in Hobe Sound over by Zeus Park. In fact, her house is two doors down from the Bubble House.”
“Take my seat, ma’am,” Poppy said. “I’ll grab another chair. I always wondered about the Bubble House. Didn’t there used to be two of them?”
“Yes. You have a good memory, young man,” Barbara said. “They were designed by Eliot Noyes and built in 1954 out of reinforced concrete cast over an inflated balloon. Because they had no sharp edges, the homes could withstand the winds of a hurricane.”
“Where?” I wondered as I watched EveLynn go back for seconds on the food. “I can’t remember seeing anything like that here.”
“That’s because the trees block most of your view. Next time, drive by slowly. The house is on Venus. I’d say that you can’t miss it, except you obviously can. There’s a vacant lot next door. That should help you find it.”
“The shape of that house reminds me of a turtle. But then, almost everything reminds me of turtles. See you on the beach, eh?” Lucas tucked his phone in his pocket, waved goodbye, and left our table.
The conversation reverted to our new table mate. Honora asked, “Barbara, where is Tenchita? She isn’t sick, is she?”
“Heavens, no. Tenchita never gets sick. She’s healthy as a horse. No, she’s busy. See, her sugar man came up from Mexico. We finally got his visa approved for a long visit. I expect those two lovebirds are cuddling. She offered to come with me, but Miguel didn’t want to get dressed, so I told her to take the morning off.” A slow stain of embarrassment worked its way up Barbara’s throat. “I think I’ll go grab an iced tea.”
Honora leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Tenchita is Barbara’s caregiver. She’s live-in help. Miguel is Tenchita’s common law husband.”
“Why would Barbara need a caregiver? She looks fine to me.” I twisted in my seat for a better look at the woman. Barbara moved with ease, she was height/weight proportional, and she dressed with a charming sense of style. Her tunic blouse looked to be silk, in the colors of our local waters. Paired with white capri pants and Jack Rogers sandals, Barbara was an iconic sample of what everyone wore down here. Everyone of “a certain age,” that is.
“She has a health condition.”
Poppy grunted. “Don’t we all?”
“Barbara’s son didn’t want her to live alone. Since Tenchita has been a part of Barbara’s family for twenty-five years, moving in with Barbara wasn’t much of a problem.” Honora leaned back, spied her friend standing in line, and continued, “But I don’t think Barbara is very happy about the arrival of Tenchita’s fancy man. She and Tenchita have their own way of doing things. I imagine this man has thrown a real monkey wrench into their lifestyle. Two older women, living alone. Set in their habits. A man would be a big disruption.”
I could see that.
“A disruption in the Force.” EveLynn took the empty seat next to me while smashing a half a sandwich into her mouth.
She’s a huge Star Wars fan. She’s seen the most recent movie six times and owns all the previous films.
“Still,” I said with a shrug, “I bet Tenchita is happy to be reunited with her husband.”
“Maybe. I’ve always gotten the impression that Miguel is shiftless.” Honora shrugged. “But if Tenchita is willing to pick up after him, who cares?”
Barbara settled back down at our table. She sipped her tea and picked up the loose ends of our conversation. “I know I shouldn’t begrudge Tenchita her time with Miguel. After all, she’s been trying to get him into the US for as long as I’ve known her. But he doesn’t seem right for her. I can’t help but wonder if being away from him has actually kept their relationship going. Tenchita caters to him, and he runs her ragged. It’s rather like having a spoiled child in our midst.”
“Has her fellow found any work?” Poppy had been mostly silent through our conversation.
“Not that I can see.” Barbara sighed. “Doesn’t appear to care about finding a job either. See, Tenchita’s been sending him money for decades. Miguel always seems to be cooking up one scheme after another. Not surprisingly, they’ve all been failures. Too good to be true, most of them. Or he didn’t put his shoulder to the grindstone with others. But then, perhaps I’m being too hard on the man. It’s possible that I’ve grown accustomed to being the center of Tenchita’s universe. I’m spoiled by her. Maybe that’s why I don’t like Miguel. He’s a rival for her affection.”
Chapter 5
EveLynn grew fidgety, so I offered to give her mother a ride home. With that settled, EveLynn left without a goodbye or thank you. That was normal for her.
Barbara and Honora chatted, while I listened to the reggae band and daydreamed. Meanwhile, Poppy got up and greeted several people he knew. Moving from table to table, he passed out his hot-off-the-press business cards. On one side were details about his new engine repair shop, located inside the garage where my old boyfriend Cooper Rivers kept his work vehicles. On the other were my store logo and contact information. Keeping my recently retired grandfather busy had proven to be a bit of a challenge for me, but we were making great strides. Poppy had taken in my computer guru, Sid Heckman, as a boarder. That was working well for both the young man and for my grandparent. Sid had suffered a broken leg after an elderly driver hit him while he was riding his bicycle. His stepmother didn’t care about him, and Sid needed a place to live, so Poppy’s place was ideal. In return, Sid taught Poppy to navigate the Worldwide Web. Lately they’d begun playing League of Legends together at night.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 59