Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  “Not as messy as having asphyxiated from her own vomit,” Les said quietly. “Assuming alcohol poisoning.”

  Bev thought it was a bit soon to draw a conclusion. She stepped to the peninsula to see the bare inch left in the tequila bottle, not much more in the bottle of margarita mix, a squat green glass pitcher with a long handled mixing spoon, a saucer with salt, a fish-shaped bamboo cutting board with paring knife, and three lime wedges. A green coffee mug was upside down in the white plastic drain rack next to the stainless steel sink. The short sand-colored tiled counter space was jammed with a toaster oven, microwave, and coffeepot. The kind of plastic salt and pepper grinders sold at the grocery store were to the right of the stove and another green coffee mug with a noticeable chip on the rim was filled with yellow packets of sweetener. No dirty dishes left out, a few streaks where the counter hadn’t been completely wiped off. Whatever food had been recently prepared hadn’t left distinctive odors.

  Beau came close enough to speak in a low voice keeping a careful distance from the table. “The door was locked this morning and I did a search after securing the scene. Nothing seems out of place. Mrs. Dupont is pretty stressed if you want to go ahead and interview her.”

  “I’ll start,” Les volunteered and turned when Bev nodded. She slipped gloves on and picked up the cell phone. It wasn’t pass code protected, but the charge was low. Recent calls showed eight from the day prior and the name Matt appeared as sent, no return call. She checked the texts. Hmm, five unanswered, all to this Matt, in relatively short intervals beginning at 10:02, the last one at 12:46. Shit, they were mostly texting abbreviations Bev refused to use. She’d get Maria in to verify the messages, but it wasn’t difficult to deduce a level of frustration or desperation or both on the part of the sender. Matt. It was a fairly common name, although she couldn’t help but think of Matt Raney. Before she could refer to the number she had listed for him, Beau announced Doc Cooper’s arrival. “You can start with photographing the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll join Les, if he isn’t done yet. I don’t think it will take Doc long.” Maybe Les hadn’t jumped to conclusions. Maybe the neighbor had something else to add.

  The older detective looked up from making a note when Bev repositioned the second upholstered arm chair to angle toward Mrs. Dupont. Her round face bore fewer wrinkles than her completely white hair and liver spots on her pudgy hands might suggest. She probably no longer wore closed toe shoes considering the noticeable bunion on her left foot, although she did have light make-up on and the turquoise slacks with a striped short-sleeve top set off her blue eyes.

  The quaver in her tone was moderate. “I’m certain Detective Martin will fill you in on the relationship of Deena to the house. I was explaining to him how I often worried about her, but I’m not one to give unsolicited advice.” Contrition flitted across her face. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead. She was a sweet girl, always popping over to help me with different things. We would talk because she did wear her emotions on her sleeve and she had little sense about men. One date with a man and she would practically be planning their wedding. I can’t count the number of times she would swear her heart was broken and by the next week, it would be someone new.”

  “What you’re telling us is important,” Les said. “I have to ask — do you know if she used drugs?”

  Mrs. Dupont wrinkled her brow before answering. “I would say not, but it’s hard to be certain these days, isn’t it? She did frequently have different friends over and there would be quite the collection of bottles in the trash bin. They were never bothersome with loud noise. She…” Mrs. Dupont’s hands trembled as she twisted her fingers together in her lap. “She was basically a good girl and I always thought she would mature into being less flighty. That isn’t going to happen now.”

  Les shot Bev a look she recognized and she spoke quickly. “Thank you, ma’am and I think we have the information we need. Will you be home the next few days in case we have other questions?”

  The older woman straightened and unlaced her fingers. “Yes, of course. You’ll be contacting her parents?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Les said and offered her a hand as she rose slowly, standing momentarily. “These old knees. They stiffen when I’ve been sitting for a while.” She avoided looking toward the dining nook as she stepped away. “Such a pity.”

  After she left, Bev glanced to see Doc Cooper still hovering over the body.

  Les reeled off the basics. “House belongs to aunt and uncle, friends of Mrs. Dupont. They live in Pennsylvania and, due to health issues, didn’t come down this winter. Pierce’s been living here since right before they left last time. Currently employed at Everything Nautical gift shop. Mrs. Dupont made a large pot of conch chowder last night and came over this morning to see if Pierce wanted some. It was something she did pretty often. Said Pierce was usually up and about fairly early and doesn’t leave for work until almost ten. When she didn’t answer the door, she was turning to leave and saw her through the window. She thought maybe she was just passed out and went to get the spare key she has. As soon as she entered, she checked for pulse and called 911.”

  “Does Mrs. Dupont have a nursing background or something? Most people aren’t calm around their first dead body.”

  Les shook his head. “Not exactly. She was the primary caregiver for both her parents before they passed away and her husband died of cancer a couple of years ago.”

  “Ah, and…”

  Doc Cooper joined them near the sofa and called over to Beau. “You can go ahead with the photos of the girl.” He grimaced. Bev’s personal view of him looking like a slimmer version of Santa Claus wasn’t reflected on his face this morning. His face and tone were somber. “I didn’t see pills anywhere and I’ll run the standard tox screens, but I’m guessing an accident. She can’t weigh more than 110 pounds and if she began with a full bottle of tequila that would be a lot of booze in a relatively short amount of time, depending on when she started drinking.”

  “She sent her last text a little before 1:00 a.m.,” Bev said.

  “That’s useful. I would put time of death probably no more than an hour after. It was a quiet week up until this and I should be able to do the autopsy this afternoon. Unless you need me for something else, I’ll head to the office. Boone can bring her straight on when you finish.”

  The search for anything suspicious went quickly. No prescriptions, although there was a three-quarters full bottle of a sleep aid in the array of over-the-counter-medications; vitamins, and supplements common to most households.

  Maria rolled her eyes at least once as she read off the texts — a mixed series of “sexting” and pleas to come over or at least call, the last two virtually undecipherable. It was Matt Raney’s number and a records search was likely to reveal a significant number of previous calls and texts if Raney’s pattern of short-term, intense relationships Bev had been told about was accurate.

  She and Les lingered by the table in the quiet house, briefly wondering how the owners were going to feel about the place under the circumstances. Les waved his hand across the empty space with the evidence bagged and removed. “She sits down with a margarita, sends the first text, no response, and it goes downhill from there? The drunker she gets, the more she wants to reach out to him?”

  “Yeah, but wait a minute.”

  “What?”

  Something had struck Bev as not quite right and Les playing out the logical scenario brought it into focus. “Tissues. Where are the tissues?”

  “What tissues?”

  “A lot of women, especially if they’re upset, are going to be crying too, and there aren’t any tissues.”

  Les looked directly at Bev and gave a half smile. “Not that I have much experience with this, but there are women who would just get mad as hell and not be the type to cry.”

  Bev slid her notebook into her purse. “Yeah, so there are. Okay, you
have the contact information for her parents? I hate making these calls. I’ll trade going to interview Raney and Pierce’s boss and co-workers.”

  “Deal. For whatever reason, it seems easier to take coming from someone closer to their age,” Les said, “and unfortunately I have more experience with this part than I’d like to. Did it way too much in my previous job.”

  Bev couldn’t interview Raney first as she preferred, because he was running an errand. If the time of his estimated return was correct, she could complete the interview with Pierce’s boss. Everything Nautical was in a strip shopping center with a side access street separating it from Scuba-Plus. They specialized in supporting regional artists and artisans. With frequent discounted sales and a locals’ discount it was as much a place where residents shopped as did tourists. Bev was an infrequent customer, but it was her shop of choice for gifts and decorating items. At six feet, Zia Yangford, the owner, was one of the few women in town taller than Bev. Her college basketball days hadn’t extended into professional play and she’d come to the Keys after graduation, took a job in banking, dabbled in commercial real estate, and was in her twelfth or so year of business.

  Zia was completing a transaction with two women and inclined her head when Bev quietly approached the counter. The shorter woman of the pair smiled brightly at Bev and took the sea mist green bag Zia passed to her. “Love the shop. We’ll tell our friends.”

  “Thank you and come again,” Zia said and released the smile as soon as the door closed behind the shoppers. “Hi Bev, Edith Dupont called me a little while ago. She didn’t want to say much. Can you tell me what happened?” She came around the counter. “Hold on, I’ll put the “Be Back at 12”, sign on and we’ll go in the office. You need water, Diet Coke, or I think I have orange juice?”

  “I’m good,” Bev said and took the empty wooden straight back chair in front of the matching desk when they entered the office. Zia evidently belonged to the “clean desk” school of thought. A second desk could have been squeezed in, but it was nice not to be crowded.

  Zia’s brown eyes were steady. “Edith used the term accident. Was that a euphemism?”

  “Initial call is alcohol poisoning. Don’t think there were drugs involved unless you can tell me otherwise. They’ll try to do the autopsy this afternoon.” The town was too small to think word wouldn’t be spread by mid-afternoon.

  “Shit. What a goddamn waste.” Zia released a sigh. “A party out of control? Stupid drinking games?”

  “Actually, it doesn’t look as if anyone else was around. Did Deena have a drinking problem?”

  “You mean any more than most people who live here? Don’t we use the phrase, you can’t drink all day if you don’t start early?” She flinched and sighed again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound flippant. To answer your question, Deena wasn’t an alcoholic and I’d say no to drugs. Did she occasionally come in with a hangover? Sure, who doesn’t at her age?”

  “Matt Raney.” Bev watched for Zia’s reaction.

  The other woman snorted. “I thought you said no one else was around.”

  “We don’t think he was present. We have the impression they might have been involved.”

  “Were, and if I bothered wasting my breath advising people about their personal lives, I would have told Deena from the moment she connected with him it was a bad idea.” She cocked her head. “If you want what I understand is great sex and a guy to have fun with for about the nanosecond of his attention span, he’s perfect. Deena though, she has — had — this idea she was the one who could settle him down. I guess she lasted a little longer than his usual — a month, maybe. And yes, the breakup — except he’s the type that doesn’t break up — it’s the standard stop calling with no explanation — was a little over a week ago.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, shit — she let a bout with the bottle get out of control over him?”

  Interesting how quickly Zia made that connection. “We have different people we’ll be talking with. Do you know of friends she was particularly close to? Ones she would have confided in?”

  Bev left with two names, both young women who were choked up when they agreed to meet later in the day. She called before driving to Scuba-Plus and was told Matt was waiting for her. He must have been watching and opened the door, his face solemn. “Guess this is about Deena. Who have thought we’d be talking about something like this again so soon, huh? The classroom is vacant if you’ll come with me.”

  There really was no need for niceties and his fellow employees were scattered around the large retail area. They passed unnoticed into the training room that was similar to where she and Kyle had taken their lessons at Adventures Below. Six-foot long tables with armless chairs in the center, three computer terminals on tables against the far wall, a white board and pull-down screen on the front wall, fluorescent lights overhead. They sat at the first table on opposite sides and Matt laid his phone in front of her. “I deleted the texts if that’s what you want to know.”

  Nothing like getting right to the point. “Why was that?”

  His tone was matter of fact, not defensive. “Look, you’re probably going to think I’m an asshole and I’ve got that. Deena and I had a good time and I’m sorry as hell to hear about her, but it’s not like I made any promises. I was on a night dive last night and the boat didn’t get in until after nine. Then it was gear cleanup and party time. I looked at the texts and it was obvious Deena was pretty well wasted. I didn’t want to get into anything with her.” He paused and shifted his eyes away briefly before shrugging and continuing. “I was hooking up with a hot babe who was on the dive — I’ll give you her name if you really need it. I’d just as soon you don’t drag her into this if you don’t have to. I turned the phone off and didn’t bother to check it again until this morning. I figured Deena would wake up with a hell of a hangover, feel stupid for sending all those texts, and that would be it. If I didn’t answer, she’d get the message.”

  Raney was correct in solidifying her opinion of him as a callous asshole. “How long were you and Miss Pierce involved?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Couldn’t have been more than about three weeks. You go longer and it gets, well, you know…”

  “Was she in the habit of binge drinking?”

  “That’s kind of a tricky term, isn’t it? Did we get sideways at times? Yeah, of course. If you mean did I ever see her passing out from drinking too much, then no.”

  “Drugs?”

  He held up both hands. “I never saw any signs of drugs with Deena and sure as shit not me. You know everybody who does marine charters has to do at least annual drug tests, don’t you? I just had to go pee in the bottle because of the accident with Belton as part of the regular protocol. Like I told you, I’m really sorry to hear about Deena, but wherever her head was last night wasn’t my doing.”

  Bev couldn’t allow her female reaction to override her professional behavior. “I don’t have any other questions for you right now. I assume you don’t have any travel planned in case we need to follow up.”

  Matt ran a hand through his hair. “No. I mean, no I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, thank you for your time,” Bev said as neutrally as she could. If Deena’s death had been set into motion by her involvement with Raney, Zia’s assessment of, Shit, what a goddamn waste was a valid description of the situation.

  Murdering Deena had been easier than Crystal expected. The most difficult part had been remembering everything she touched. It wasn’t like she could walk in wearing gloves and she had to drink at least some tequila in playing her role. She’d been extra careful to avoid contact with anything she couldn’t bring to the table and press Deena’s fingers to after she’d wiped her own prints away. The real problem was it had taken Deena longer to seem to stop breathing than she’d hoped. She’d been home barely half an hour before her mother slipped in, assuming she was asleep as she should have be
en. Oddly enough, she had fallen to sleep rather quickly.

  It was different today and, thankfully, her mother was covering for the afternoon bartender and had agreed to come directly from her grocery store job. Crystal was glad to have the trailer to herself to savor the memory of what she’d done. She turned the volume on the television so low she almost couldn’t hear it. It was ironic that her mother wasn’t the first person she killed — God knows she’d thought about it often enough. And if Deena hadn’t been so stupid about Matt, there wouldn’t have been any reason for her to die. She should have accepted the fact their short affair was over. The plan to try and lure him back probably wouldn’t have worked, but why should poor Matt have to put up with her clinging bullshit? Besides, Deena was the one who’d been running her mouth like nobody could hear the discussion. Crystal had been minding her own business, working on her laptop the next table over and as soon as she realized they’d been talking about Matt, she’d kept her eyes on the screen, scrolling to a new page as she’d focused her attention to the two women. She knew Deena in passing since the coffee shop was a common stop and she’d been in Everything Nautical a few times where Deena worked. The other woman — Stacey — was a stranger — about the same age, with light brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

  “I don’t know, girlfriend. From what I hear about Matt, he’s a real player. He never stays with anyone for long.”