Over Maya Dead Body

by Sandra Orchard

  Aunt Martha batted the deflating airbag out of her face. “Look out for the dog!”

  Carmen swerved blindly and inadvertently kicked the gas in his reflexive impulse to brake.

  I braced my arm on the back of the seat as we bumped over a hunk of wood, heading straight at the cars parked along the other side of the field. “Crank it right. Right.”

  He did and within another twenty yards, the car ran out of momentum and came to a stop.

  I tumbled out of the backseat with an unladylike groan as approaching sirens blared. I massaged my aching neck. “Are you two okay?”

  “Right as rain,” Aunt Martha said, sounding as exhilarated as if she’d just climbed off a horse at the Flying Horses carousel down the road. “Those airbags really work!”

  Carmen dropped onto his back and shimmied under the car. Nate did the same from the passenger side.

  I hit Tanner’s number on my speed dial. “Can you pick us up?”

  “Uh, no, we’ve got a situation here. What’s going on?”

  “Car trouble.”

  “Well, get here as fast as you can,” Tanner said.

  A squad car screeched to a stop at the curb, and the officer jogged across the field toward us. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Our car lost its brakes,” I explained. “We drove into the park to slow it down.”

  “The brake line’s been cut,” Carmen barked from beneath the car. He crawled out and wiped his grease-covered hands on the tissue Aunt Martha handed him.

  “Both lines,” Nate confirmed, rising from the other side of the car.

  My heart rioted as my mind zigzagged through who knew I was here. Joe. Frank. But neither would have known what car I came in.

  The officer whipped out a notepad and pen. “Who are you? Why would someone cut your brakes?”

  “To try to kill us. Why do you think?” Carmen groused.

  Nausea roiled through my stomach. Preston had been in the adjoining bathroom when I made plans with Aunt Martha this morning. He could’ve easily overheard us. I didn’t want to believe he could’ve done this. But he’d also been out in his truck the night Dad was hit. And he could’ve easily identified Carmen’s rental.

  “And you are?” the officer asked Carmen.

  “Carmen Malgucci.”

  The officer’s pen slid off his notepad. “Of the Malgucci crime family?”

  “We’re here from St. Louis,” I interjected, identifying myself as a fed. “I’ve been investigating an art crime that may be connected to the recent homicides on the island. I assume that’s why we’ve been targeted.”

  The muscle in Carmen’s cheek noticeably flinched.

  “What?” I said.

  Carmen shrugged. “Some of my relatives have crossed a few people.”

  The officer’s gaze darted past the gathering crowd of gawkers to one end of the road, then the other. “Are we talking organized crime?”

  Oh, great. Martha’s Vineyard was a popular playground for the rich. Why not vacationing mobsters? Yes, why not? Better them than my prime suspects.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Aunt Martha said to me, pressing her phone to her ear.

  “Who are you calling?” I asked as Carmen told the cop where the car had been parked and suggested pulling footage from any security cameras in the area that might’ve filmed whoever did this.

  “Winston.” Aunt Martha turned her focus to the ground and spoke into the phone. “Yes, it’s me. Seems a bird-watcher has clipped our wings.”

  I smiled at her colorful description. Her friend probably didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  “Could you pick us up at the park across from Inkwell Beach?” she went on. “My niece has somewhere she needs to be.” She clicked off and returned her attention to me. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

  “Wow, thank you. He lives that close?”

  She thrust her chin in the direction we’d come. “Beside that anti-virus software magnate’s mansion on Ocean Avenue.”

  I whistled. “Nice.”

  “Carmen and I can handle the incident report,” Aunt Martha said.

  “Thanks.” I gave the officer my business card. “I need to go. If you have any more questions for me, you can reach me at the cell number.”

  He didn’t look like he was agreeable to the idea of my leaving, but I headed toward the street before he could argue.

  Behind me a car door slammed, then the slap of shoes closed in on me. “Wait,” Nate said. “You forgot something.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “You?”

  “And your purse.” He held up my bag, which he must’ve grabbed from the backseat of the car. I glanced at my watch, wondering what Tanner had uncovered at Charlie’s and if our saboteur had taken off after him after disabling our ride.

  Thirty seconds later a shiny new Land Rover pulled to the curb behind the police car. Winston jumped out and tossed the keys to Nate. “Take good care of her.”

  “You’re leaving it with us?” I guess I didn’t do a good job of keeping the surprise from my voice, because he laughed.

  “I live on an island. It’s not as if you could get far if you decided to steal it. And don’t worry about your aunt and her friend. I’ll make sure they’re set up with a new pair of wheels too.”

  “I appreciate it. Thanks.”

  He glanced past us and shook his head at the scene in the field. “Looks like a page right out of the playbook of Madame X.”

  “You’ve heard of Madame X?” I turned to Nate and explained, “Madame X is legendary in federal law enforcement circles. Pulling off stunts no one thought possible. Think female James Bond.” I grinned at Winston. “Were you CIA? FBI?”

  “Secret Service.”

  “Wow, I knew Aunt Martha had a lot of well-connected friends back in the day, but I had no idea how well connected. So, you actually met Madame X? What was she like?”

  “We’d better get going,” Nate interjected. “Tanner’s waiting.”

  I ducked my head, suddenly realizing how fan-girl I must’ve sounded. “Right.” I shook Winston’s hand and climbed into the car beside Nate. “Do you think we should’ve stuck around? Aunt Martha is going to have the cops bothering Joe with her bird-watcher allegations, but even if he had an accomplice, I—”

  “I don’t think that’s who Martha meant by a bird-watcher.” Nate pulled into traffic.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Birdwatcher is British slang for spy.”

  “It is? How do you know that?”

  Nate chuckled. “I used to watch those mysteries she loves so much with her.”

  “Ahh. Because I can’t see how Frank would’ve known what car I came to town in. Carmen parked blocks away from the tabernacle.”

  “Assuming you were the target.”

  “You think it could’ve been Carmen?”

  Nate quirked the same noncommittal shrug as Carmen had. “The rental is registered in his name.”

  “Sure, but it doesn’t take any advance planning to decide to cut a brake line. Anyone could’ve seen me arrive in Oak Bluffs. And then waited for his chance.” Anyone.

  “You think it was Ben?”

  It was my turn to offer the noncommittal shrug. I didn’t like the idea of it being Ben any better than Preston. But it made more sense.

  “Ashley know anything about cars?” Nate asked.

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey, the day I arrived, she was convinced you were here to steal her fiancé. Jealousy can make a person do crazy things.”

  “Well, now that you and Tanner are here, I’m sure she can see that I have my hands full.”

  He grinned. “So, who is winning?”

  Oh man, my mouth needed brakes worse than Carmen’s car.

  Nate turned the corner onto Charlie’s street.

  A squad car with flashing lights was parked in front of it, and a cop was patting down a suspect taking the position—his hands on the squad car’s trunk, h
is feet spread apart.

  “Whoa, is that Tanner?”

  21

  Nate pulled to the curb two car lengths behind the cruiser, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Tanner being frisked. “Isn’t that the cop who was investigating Charlie?” Nate pointed to the plain-clothed Wahlberg look-alike standing on the sidewalk, watching the pat down, a phone to his ear, and scrutinizing what looked like Tanner’s FBI badge.

  I opened the car door. “You’d better wait here.” I strode toward the detective, my hands out where the other edgy-looking uniformed cop dealing with Tanner could see them. “Detective Moore, that agent’s working with me.”

  He pocketed his phone, having finished the phone call that had probably confirmed the badge was legit, and nodded to the cop. “Give him back his gun.” Detective Moore handed Tanner his badge. “Sorry about that, but you can see how it looked.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Tanner’s gaze strayed to the windshield of the Land Rover we’d pulled up in, and he grimaced.

  Yeah, Nate was going to love reminding him of this one.

  “When I heard the dispatcher report a prowler at his address,” Moore explained, “I thought I might catch one of Charlie’s drug contacts.”

  “He saw me peering in the side window,” Tanner continued. “I followed Frank here and after he went inside, I circled the house to see what he was up to. That’s when I realized he wasn’t alone and called you. The detective here pulled up in an unmarked car as I was testing the window lock.”

  I rolled my lips to keep from smiling. From the grass stains on Tanner’s knees, it looked as if the detective had caught him by surprise.

  “And of course,” Tanner went on, “he didn’t believe I was a fed any more than I believed he was a cop, so I resisted.”

  I nodded. “Who else is in the house with Frank?”

  “Carly. The victim’s sister,” Detective Moore said. “Another uniform is babysitting them. I’m heading in to talk to them now. Care to join me?”

  “Lead the way.” As we fell into step beside each other, I asked, “So you still think Charlie is part of a drug ring?”

  “We didn’t find any antiquities in his place, if that’s what you were hoping. But his truck had traces of cocaine in it.”

  “Where’d you find his truck?”

  “The east shore of Tisbury Great Pond. You know it?”

  “Yes, my parents are staying at a friend’s place a few hundred yards inland from the west shore.”

  “The location’s consistent with where the tide carried his body. According to the coast guard, the undercurrent in the channel between the pond and the ocean is treacherous.”

  I nodded. “My uncle always warned us not to play around it. Find any other evidence in the truck?”

  “No sign of foul play.” Detective Moore opened the front door and motioned me to precede him inside, then squinted back at Tanner, who’d started up the walk. “Your partner looked more peeved about you showing up with that other guy than about being patted down,” Moore observed.

  I chuckled. “That’s because he knows Nate’s going to have too much fun teasing him about it.”

  “Nah, I don’t think that’s it.” Moore shot me a wink as he followed me inside.

  I choked on my next question as I glanced at Tanner, not sure I wanted to know how Moore had jumped to that conclusion. Nope, definitely sure I didn’t want to know. “How about the truck’s body? Any man-sized dents in the front fender?”

  Moore paused in the entranceway. “The trauma on Charlie’s body was consistent with being battered against the rocks. You think he was run over by his own truck then thrown in?”

  I lowered my voice. “A truck like Charlie’s ran my dad down outside Jack Hill’s house Wednesday night.”

  Moore’s brow furrowed. “And you think Charlie was the driver? Why?”

  “We’d just exited Jack’s house, so I figured the driver was worried we’d happened upon something he didn’t want found. But if there’s no evidence he was smuggling antiquities then he’s probably not our man.”

  “Your perp could’ve just been distracted by his cell phone or from having too much to drink at the beach.”

  “Was there a dent in the fender?” Tanner irritably repeated my question as he joined us in the hall.

  “It had a few dings. Seems to be an epidemic with vehicles on the island. But you’re welcome to stop by the police compound and take a look at it.” Moore led the way into the living room and dismissed the female officer who’d been sitting with Frank and Carly.

  They both sprang to their feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Assisting Detective Moore with his investigation.”

  “You’re a cop?” Carly asked, shock lifting her voice.

  “A federal agent.” I guess I shouldn’t have assumed Jack or Ashley would’ve mentioned my job to her. “I specialize in art crime investigations.”

  Carly’s eyes dilated with an emotion I wasn’t sure how to interpret. Her gaze abruptly shifted to Frank.

  He fisted his hands. “We don’t know anything about any art crime. Why are we being detained?”

  “You were trespassing,” Detective Moore said firmly.

  Carly turned away. Given her theatrics the day we arrived at Jack’s, I expected her to get in Moore’s face, tell him she had every right to be here. Instead she picked up an old framed family photograph from the end table and traced the faces. “Charlie left the house to me,” she whispered, her bottom lip quivering, her watery gaze fixed on the image.

  “And I was looking for Carly,” Frank interjected. “Her mother was worried about her.”

  “Was the house unlocked when you arrived?” Moore asked before I had a chance to suggest separating the pair—an action that should’ve been taken from the start.

  “Yes,” Frank said. “I saw a bike—which turned out to be Carly’s—lying in the driveway and found her inside.”

  Carly returned the photograph to the table, then sank onto the sofa and hugged her legs. Her sleeves rode up her arms, revealing bright red marks the size of thumbs and fingers. She tugged the sleeves back to her wrists and slanted a wary glance at Moore before ducking her head.

  “I’d scarcely gotten past ‘hello’ when your men arrived,” Frank went on.

  “Did Frank threaten you?” I asked Carly.

  Her gaze snapped up. “What?” She darted another glance at Moore. “No.” Her gaze skittered to the hall beyond—a hall with three closed doors, likely two bedrooms and a closet I trusted the pair of cops now waiting outside had cleared, as well as an open bathroom door.

  “We should question them separately,” Tanner said and reached for the first door handle as if it would open to a room to suit our purposes.

  Carly’s gaze abruptly dropped, and Tanner took that as a cue to draw his weapon and step to the side before pushing open the door. The room was empty, except for a desk and chair.

  Frank’s face reddened. “What is going on here?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out.” Detective Moore clasped Frank’s elbow and motioned toward the hall. “Would you mind stepping with me into the other room so we can talk in private?”

  Frank jerked his arm from Moore’s grasp. “Yes, I mind. I know my rights. Unless you’re arresting me, I don’t need to stay here and talk to you.”

  “We’re trying to determine who may’ve wanted Charlie dead,” Moore said. “Why wouldn’t you want to help us?”

  Frank shook his head and pointed a finger at me. “She said she’s an art crime investigator. This isn’t about Charlie.”

  Moore cocked his head. “I investigate drug crimes. Are we getting warmer?”

  Carly’s fingers dug into the couch. “I already told your people last night that Charlie didn’t do drugs! Not ever.” She swiped at a tear that leaked onto her cheek but didn’t meet our gazes.

  Frank joined Carly on the sofa and pulled her into an embrace. “Of
course he didn’t, dear. You mustn’t let their questions disturb you.”

  From the way she stiffened and looked at him, she seemed as disturbed by her boss’s sudden hug as Moore’s innuendo.

  Seeming not to notice, Frank patted her back and looked up at Moore. “Are we through now?”

  I sensed we’d get more out of Carly if we cut Frank loose, so I signaled to Moore to let him go.

  Frank stood and when Carly didn’t rise too, he stretched his hand toward her. “Aren’t you coming?”

  She shook her head. “I . . . I want to go through more of Charlie’s stuff. Can you let Mom know I’m okay?”

  “Of course. You take care now.” Frank graced the rest of us with a terse nod, and Moore escorted him out.

  Tanner motioned down the hall. I’m going to use the facilities—code for I’m going to look around.

  I tugged a chair kitty-corner to Carly’s spot and then hunching forward, gently nudged up one of her sleeves. “Did Frank do that to you?”

  Her eyelids all but bounced off her eyebrows. “No.”

  “Then who was it, Carly? The marks don’t look as if they could’ve been made long before Tanner got here.”

  “I . . . I . . .” She gripped her wrists with the opposite hands, her fingers turning white. “I do it to myself sometimes.”

  “What’s down the hall?” I asked, catching her sneak another glance that way.

  Her attention cut to me. “Nothing. Just rooms. And that other agent.”

  The room shuddered, as if an outside door had been opened and let in a gust of air. I lurched up and glanced around the corner—not the front door. Tanner had closed the bathroom door. Could that have done it?

  Carly’s face was white. On impulse, I pushed open the second bedroom door just as someone jumped out the window. “He’s getting away,” I shouted to Tanner and raced out the front door. “Stop him!” I shouted to the cops I expected to find outside, but the police cruiser was gone and Frank’s car was just pulling away from the curb.

  Moore must’ve thought I’d meant Frank and lurched after the car, managing to slap the rear fender before Frank sped off, ignoring him. I sprinted for the corner of the house just as the male Caucasian raced past and veered right with Tanner in hot pursuit.