Over Maya Dead Body

by Sandra Orchard

  “You wait here,” I said, climbing out of the car.

  He met me at the curb and reached for the pub door.

  “Did that explosion wreck your hearing?”

  He flashed a silly grin. “You’re forgetting who has a picture of the suspect on his phone.” He motioned me in ahead of him.

  “What can I get you?” the Irishman behind the bar drawled as the tinkle of bells overhead quieted.

  I glanced around the room, but Tanner was nowhere in sight. I flashed my badge at the barkeep. “We’re looking for a guy who drives a dark Cherokee and wears one of your ball caps.”

  “Lass, like I told the other officer, we’ve sponsored baseball teams on the island for years. Every fella and their granny have one of our caps. And if you haven’t noticed, Jeeps are popular too.”

  Nate showed him the image he’d downloaded to his phone from the car’s surveillance tape. “You recognize this guy?”

  Irish glanced at the phone and said “No.” Only, he said it too fast. “Why you lookin’ for him?”

  “He dropped something,” Nate said without missing a beat, “and we want to get it back to him.”

  I scarcely stopped the laugh that burst from my chest at Nate’s glib comeback. Ball Cap Guy had dropped something, all right.

  Irish motioned toward a bulletin board on the back wall between the restroom sign and a dartboard. “You can pin up a notice if you like.”

  I scanned the women’s restroom for signs of anyone hiding out. Nate scanned the men’s. Both were clear.

  “What do you think?” I asked Nate.

  “I think we should come back after the memorial service and check out the evening clientele.”

  “Catching him here would be a long shot,” I said.

  “At this point, it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

  A text came in from Tanner: Come around the back of the pub.

  The pub backed onto a narrow alleyway. Tanner was leaning against the building’s graying cedar-shaked wall, his arms folded over his chest, his expression grim. “Okay, so I was wrong about the make. The truck was a Cherokee, not a Tahoe,” he groused.

  “I thought we’d already established that from the surveillance tape?”

  Tanner pushed himself off the wall and pointed across the alleyway.

  Well, he got the color right. A black Jeep Cherokee was parked in a small loading dock area carved between two buildings. My mind flashed back to the hit-and-run. Were we looking at the same culprit?

  I hurried over to the vehicle. The front bumper showed no evidence of colliding with my father, but the pair of bullet holes in the fender, inches from the tire, and a third through the hubcap confirmed it belonged to our drive-by culprit. “Slick shooting,” I said to Tanner.

  Tanner’s somber expression morphed into a grin. “Found the package you were after too. It’s on the front seat.”

  “Are you serious?” I peered through the window. Sure enough, a package wrapped in brown paper, bearing stamps from Guatemala, lay unopened on the passenger seat.

  “The customs label says home décor item,” Tanner said. “A clever ruse if it turns out to be an antiquity.”

  I tried the door, but it was locked. Not that I could legally help myself to the package without a warrant, let alone open it. “It’s addressed to Hill and Dale Architects.”

  “Yeah, didn’t you say that’s where Charlie’s sister worked?”

  “Yes. But if she was helping her brother, he sure wasn’t paying her well. She still lives with her mother and rides the bus.”

  “I don’t know,” Nate interjected. “She carries a three-hundred-dollar purse and wears designer clothes.”

  My expression must’ve given away my dismay I hadn’t picked up on that, because Tanner chuckled. “I don’t even want to know how he knows women’s purses.”

  Nate shrugged. “Former girlfriend who cared about her fashion statement a little too much.”

  Tanner’s eyebrow arched as he turned his attention to me.

  What did he expect? Nate was probably the sweetest guy I knew. Of course he’d had other girlfriends. Not . . . that I was putting myself in that category. Oh, man. My cheeks were definitely heating up again. I pulled out my phone and looked up the number of the local police station.

  “I already called in the license plate,” Tanner said. “Belongs to a Devin Fields. He lives in a house at the edge of town. I figure he’s probably around town somewhere, but I didn’t want to lose sight of his truck and miss him.”

  “Okay, Nate and I will search the area. I’ll update Moore.” The call went to voice mail, so I let him know we’d found the package and asked if he’d located Carly. With the addressee being Hill and Dale Architects, her flight looked more suspicious than ever, and I’d have a lot more questions for her once we confirmed the package’s contents. I texted Special Agent Jackson next and suggested he work on getting us a warrant as soon as he finished with Ben, then pocketed my phone. “Call if you spot our guy,” I said to Tanner.

  Nate and I walked up the street, slipping into each shop to scout for Devin. As we stepped into a coffee shop and the rich aroma of coffee and mouthwatering smell of baking bread teased my senses, my stomach grumbled.

  “What do you say we grab a sandwich and coffee here?” Nate said. “We missed lunch and at this rate, we won’t have time to grab dinner before the memorial service.”

  “Good plan. Can you order me a clubhouse while I check in with Special Agent Jackson?” I sat at a table in a quiet corner of the shop, my back to the wall, so I could watch passersby.

  A text had come in from Moore: Now I see why you keep the sidekicks around. Good work. Still no sign of Carly. Keep me posted on the parcel status.

  Chuckling at what Tanner and Nate were bound to think of the sidekick moniker, I texted back a Will do, then phoned Isaak.

  He answered on the first ring. “I got your message.”

  “If it turns out to be an antiquity, we’re going to want search warrants for Devin’s place, the architect firm, and Carly’s and Frank’s. You may want to let the post office know we located the package already too.”

  “About that. When I called the Edgartown police station earlier, they said no one contacted them about a package.”

  “Not surprising. Detective Moore likely called the post office directly.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know. Early afternoon.”

  “The post office closes at one on Saturdays. Doesn’t reopen until Monday morning.”

  Huh. “Well, once he realized the post office was closed, he must’ve figured we could deal with it later. We were eyeball deep in interrogating Ben and Carly at the time. You finished questioning Ben?”

  “Yes, at the hospital. I didn’t want to keep him from his uncle’s memorial service.”

  I glanced at my watch. Still had an hour to make it. “How credible do you think Ben’s story is? I mean, we located the package. But unless we manage to lift Charlie’s prints from it, we’ll only have Ben’s word that Charlie mailed it.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Serena,” Isaak said. “Ben was cooperative, but his alibi for the time of Jack’s death is holier than Swiss cheese. It sounds like he’s trying to cover his butt.”

  Yeah. I really wanted to believe Ben didn’t have anything to do with Jack’s or Charlie’s deaths or the hit-and-run, but I was having a difficult time believing an innocent man would leave his sister to grieve alone for the uncle who’d been like a father to them for so many years.

  “What about the truck he’s been borrowing? Get anything off it?”

  “I called the owner and Ben’s story checked out. Given what happened to it, I doubt the guy will be so easygoing about lending out his next truck.”

  “Right.”

  Nate joined me at the table and set a sandwich and coffee in front of my place.

  Thank you, I mouthed.

  “I’m working on the search warrant,�
� Isaak went on. “I want to question Marianne about Charlie and the argument you mentioned she had with Jack too. But that can wait until after the service.”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate the reprieve.”

  “I’ve got to tell you, Serena, that at this point, even if there are antiquities in that parcel, the police haven’t found anything to suggest Jack’s or Charlie’s deaths were murder.”

  “Excuse me?” I said indignantly, drawing curious looks from other customers. I lowered my voice. “Ben’s truck and Charlie’s house were firebombed. Clearly, someone doesn’t want us to find something.”

  “I hear you. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but Moore could be right that this is about drugs, not antiquities.”

  “Then how do you explain the parcel? Ben wouldn’t have convinced Jack to call the feds if he’d made up the smuggling scheme.”

  “Are you sure? Jack was about to change his will, presumably to cut Ben out of a significant portion of the inheritance he’d been expecting—a portion that would then go to Jack’s new wife and possibly her children, Charlie included. Accusing him of being a smuggler, and subtly implicating his sister by shipping the package to Jack’s business, was an ingenious way to convince Jack to put the will change on hold.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  “I’ll admit Ben did seem genuinely worried about endangering his sister by being near her.”

  “Uh, yeah. He should be. Did you offer him protection?”

  “An officer followed them home. There will be a few at the memorial service tonight and then I’m assuming we can count on you to watch for trouble when you all return to his sister’s house for the night?”

  “Of course. I’ll see you later.” I clicked off and Nate frowned at me.

  “Who’s going to watch your back?”

  “My Glock,” I said glibly, downplaying the obvious—that after three near misses, I was as likely a target as Ben.

  The stubborn look he’d worn when he informed me he didn’t scare away easily reappeared on his face. But I was too tired to counter whatever protection plan he was cooking up in that brain of his and took a big bite of my sandwich instead.

  We made short work of polishing off our late lunch, then hiked up and down the streets, looking in all the shops. There was no sign of Devin anywhere.

  Nate and I returned to the alley.

  “No luck, huh?” Tanner said. “You may as well head over to the memorial service. I can keep watch here.”

  “You want backup?” Nate asked.

  “I’d rather you watch Serena’s back,” Tanner said, although he looked pained to say it.

  “We’ll check Devin’s house first,” I said. “Maybe he walked home or got a lift.”

  “It can wait. You don’t want to miss the memorial service.”

  “But I should—”

  “Serene—uh,” Tanner determinedly interjected. “Some things are more important than catching the bad guy.”

  I shut my mouth on the rest of my protest. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” I joked, but Tanner’s gaze remained steady.

  “It’s because I’m your friend I’m telling you where you need to go. Now go.”

  27

  Mom hustled over to us the moment Nate and I stepped into the church. “I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it.”

  Nate shook Dad’s hand and asked how his leg was feeling, then chatted with Aunt Martha. She rummaged in her purse and then handed him something. Nate glanced my way but quickly returned his attention to Aunt Martha, who was still chattering on.

  “It was so nice of Nate to bring you,” Mom enthused. “Carmen didn’t bother coming. Where’s Tanner?”

  “He had something else he needed to do.” I spotted Frank loitering outside the restrooms and excused myself to go talk to him. I forced myself to make small talk to lower his defenses, then hit him with a nonchalant, “Who handles the mail for your firm?”

  “Carly picks it up from the post office and deals with as much as she can, then passes the rest on to me or Jack.” The muscle in his cheek flinched. “Well, I guess just me now. Why?”

  “Are you expecting a package, containing home décor items, from South America?”

  Frank frowned. “Not me. Why? Oh, wait, Jack may’ve been. He was designing a place with a Mayan theme. Even had Carly print some pictures off the internet for him.”

  Okay, that might explain where the picture in Jack’s pocket came from. “We believe the contents of the package may shed some light on whether Jack’s death was truly an accident. Do we have your permission to inspect it?”

  “Of course. I’ll ask Carly to—”

  Marianne emerged from the nearby ladies’ room.

  “Excuse me,” Frank said and beckoned Marianne to join us. He slipped his hand around her waist and dipped his head to hers. “How are you holding up?” he asked tenderly.

  She gave him a small, shaky smile. “Okay.”

  I offered my condolences to her once more.

  “Can we finish this discussion later?” Frank asked, returning his attention to me. “I promised Marianne I’d escort her into the sanctuary.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. But we do have your permission to open the package?”

  “Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as it comes in.”

  I squinted at him, trying to decide if he was being cooperative because he was innocent or because he naively assumed we wouldn’t get our hands on the package before he did. I debated for half a second, then dropped the bomb that should elicit the answer. “Actually, the parcel was found, along with some of your firm’s other mail, in a vehicle licensed to a Devin Fields.”

  “What?” he growled.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “No, and I haven’t a clue how he got his hands on our mail.”

  Marianne clasped his arm placatingly. “I think I may. Devin is Carly’s boyfriend. His mom works at the post office.”

  Whoa, this was looking worse for Carly by the second. My gaze slid down Frank’s bulky figure—definitely not the physique of the person caught on Jack’s camera.

  “She likely gave the mail to Devin to save Carly a trip,” Marianne went on. “The mail’s probably been piling up at the post office since Wednesday.”

  “You think so?” Frank asked, relief leaching from his voice.

  “I’m sure that’s all it is,” Marianne assured.

  “Okay, thank you,” I said, and turned away before Frank had a chance to recant his permission.

  “Wait,” Marianne called after me. “You made it sound as if you found Devin’s truck, but not Devin? Did he have car trouble?”

  “No, his truck fit the description of a vehicle seen around Charlie’s house at the time of the firebomb.”

  “Of course it would. He went there to see Carly. He stopped by our house with flowers and to drop off that mail, I suppose. Frank had just called to tell me he’d found her at Charlie’s, so I urged Devin to go see her, to keep her company.”

  Frank’s call to Marianne must’ve omitted who else had been there with Carly. I staunched the impulse to ask if Devin was the jealous type. Marianne didn’t need more stress, minutes before Jack’s memorial service. Instead, I thanked her again and slipped into a quiet corner to call Tanner.

  “He’s still a no-show,” Tanner said.

  “I talked to Frank about the package addressed to his firm, and he didn’t know anything about it.”

  “You believe him?”

  “He didn’t so much as twitch when I brought it up. It’s looking more and more like Carly acted as the receiver for her brother. She handles all the firm’s mail and Devin is her boyfriend.”

  “Ahh. So she likely called or texted him when Ben first ran, or you said later she went to the bathroom? Asked him to create a diversion so she could get away,” Tanner theorized.

  “Maybe, but Marianne said she sent him to the house.”

  �
��Given the family’s loss, we may want to wait until we confirm there are antiquities in the package before we confront Carly.”

  “Frank’s given us permission to open the parcel.”

  “That’s great, but first I need Devin to open his truck. Anyway, don’t worry about any of that now. You need to be there with your family—in body, mind, and spirit.”

  My chest tightened at the thought of the gaping hole Jack’s death left in so many people’s lives. The years away had insulated me from fully feeling its impact. But Tanner was right—I owed Jack and my family my full presence.

  Nate sidled up to me, straightened my shirt collar. “The family’s heading in. Everything okay?”

  I pocketed my phone with a silent nod and let him escort me in behind my family. Marianne, Frank, Ben, Ashley, and Preston sat in the first pew, and we filed into the one behind them. The remaining pews were already packed, and throngs of others stood along the walls. My heart lifted to see how dearly Jack was loved, that so many would come to bid him farewell and support his family. “Where’s Carly?” I whispered to Nate.

  “Her mother said she wasn’t feeling well.”

  I glanced around the sanctuary and spotted a couple of other officer types doing the same, Special Agent Jackson among them. Maybe the state police hadn’t completely dismissed the possibility of foul play. I didn’t see Moore.

  I dug my phone out of my purse so I could text him that Carly had apparently been in touch with her mother and that Carly’s boyfriend had been behind the attack at Charlie’s.

  He phoned straight back, earning me a glare from my mother. “So a jealous boyfriend was behind the attack, huh?”

  “Is that gloating I hear in your tone? Tell me you didn’t think the attack had to do with whatever Charlie was involved with.”

  “Sure I did. Tossing firebombs at houses is exactly the kind of tactic I’d expect from a drug lord. From an antiquities dealer . . . I’d expect something subtler. Like poison in the pâté, maybe.”

  “Hmmm. You have any leads on who took out Charlie?”

  “No, no one’s talking.” Translation: his informants had nothing.

  Mom sliced me another scolding look.

  I told Moore to keep me posted and then turned the phone to silent.