Sand City Murders

by MK Alexander

Mortimer swam over to the middle of the quarry. It was my turn to be astonished. Mortimer seemed to haul himself up and out of the water. He was just standing there, standing on the water, dripping. I watched him take one small step and he almost lost his balance. It finally occurred to me that he was not standing on the pond, but on top of the legendary steam shovel that had been submerged all those years ago. I could see him look to the sky, as if to catch his bearing. He turned, and with a great amount of effort, leapt into the air. Then he was gone.

  I turned to Joey and Durbin. They stared back at me wordlessly, dumbfounded. “Did you see that?” I asked.

  They both nodded; one of them said. “He just disappeared.”

  Fynn had staggered down from the cliffs, at least partly. He was doubled over and splayed out on a huge rock ledge, some ten feet above the water. I ran over. Joey and Durbin followed. We surrounded the inspector on the slab of granite, looking down helplessly.

  “I fear I must break my fifth rule of travel,” Fynn said with a pained expression.

  “What’s that one?”

  “Avoid dying at all costs.” He looked down at his own wound and removed his hand. An ugly red stain appeared just above his cummerbund and was spreading ominously across his white shirt.

  “There must be something we can do.”

  “My jacket pocket, please…”

  I brought out his compass and passed it to him. Fynn held it in his bloody fingers. He looked up at the moon and turned the dial. “That way… face me that way…” he said and pointed. “I must go back.”

  “Back where?”

  “I have another party to attend, this one in London.” He thrust the compass back into my hands and I slipped it into my jacket.

  “Nineteen sixty-four?”

  “Yes, and now you must throw me into the void... Go on, make a seat, lock your arms like this,” he said, pantomiming the position. Durbin and I managed to make a human swing. Joey helped to hoist the inspector into it. “Now throw me off, you must.”

  “This is crazy… I’ll call an ambulance,” Durbin protested.

  “No,” Fynn said harshly. “It’s too late for that. Indulge me please, detective,” his voice softened to a whisper and he managed a painful smile.

  Durbin looked at me. He wasn’t sure who was crazy at this point.

  “On three,” I grunted and started swinging the inspector back and forth. “One… two… three.” We swung Fynn from the cliff. He flew from our hands and went sailing to the black water below, though with a desperate cry of pain. There was no splash this time. In an instant, he was gone. His cry echoed against the crater walls.

  I’m pretty sure that meant Fynn would live to see another day. I turned to Joey and Durbin but they weren’t there. Somehow I wasn’t surprised. I was alone with it all, the quarry in the moonlight, the fireflies, and now, the silence.

  chapter 39

  times fly

  There was a text on my cell from Tractus Fynn. It could only mean one thing. The timeline had changed again, and this time, drastically. Come to the house, ASAP. I would certainly comply but I thought it might be a good idea to stop in at the office first. I might get a better sense of what had changed. What day is it? Oh, Sunday… I was feeling a bit disorientated. Zachary wound between my legs and started meowing. I was glad for that at least.

  I went straight to my laptop and opened the Chronicle Online Edition… wait, now there were two. There was a button that said, for e-readers click here. Jason and Amy hard at work all summer, I presumed. I went to the masthead: Eleanor, Frank, Joey, Pagor, Melissa, Jo-Anne, Susan Chandler, Sales Representative… Wait, Suzy?

  I also checked through this week’s issue… Friday’s headline caught my attention: Officer Finds Pirate’s Treasure

  I read further, Sand City Police Officer Allen Adams claimed this year’s Chamber of Commerce Summer Competition grand prize, a pirate’s chest filled with doubloons, well not real doubloons, but a check worth $10,000.

  According to Adams, the clue that gave it all away was, “Disturb the dead not once, but fifty times count your blessings.”

  …And what’s on tap for next season? “It’s early days,” said Joey Jegal, creator of this year’s puzzle, “Maybe a Sand Castle Competition.”

  I decided to check the headlines from some back issues:

  Fish City Goes Green—

  Hector Diaz, president of Fish City announces plans to install solar panels…

  Policeman’s Ball a Rousing Success

  Officer Adam Allens Promoted to Lieutenant

  College Campus to Revive Saint Alban’s Site

  Quiet Gardener Ceases Operations

  In the end there was no better way to catch up with things than Molly Gossip:

  It’s been once heck of a season, I have to say. And who would have guessed that the most raucous summer visitors of all would be of the insect variety. Talk about noisy neighbors, louder than a leaf blower, and lousy tippers the lot of them. Quite the brood too. Mr This and Mr That both assure me they are very tasty when fried up in a little olive oil. Hate to dine and dash but seventeen years is a long wait for the cicadas’ return.

  Monday morning was going to be interesting, no doubt. I figured it was also worth a peek inside Partners. It was very weird going inside in broad daylight. I stepped through the door with some hesitation.

  “Hey Patrick, what brings you in so early?”

  “Miriam? What are you doing here?”

  “Working, like always. What can I get you?”

  “Nothing really, just saying hi.”

  “Looking for Eddie?”

  “Eddie?”

  “Yeah, Eddie the drummer, your best friend…” She looked at me funny. “He wanted to know if you’re coming to open mic on Thursday.”

  “Maybe…”

  “Hang on a sec,” Miriam said and floated down to the other end of the bar. My eyes followed and took stock of the regulars near the side entrance. Everything seemed to be in order. Wait… no Cecil today, no Hector either. In their place seemed to be Charles Chamblis and Michael Burton Dean. They both looked pretty out of it. I left in a hurry and then texted Joey: Who invented the telephone? A few minutes later I got a reply: A. Bell, LOL, Emma says hi...

  ***

  I drove up to Fynn’s house, the best I could remember, and pulled into the sandy driveway. There was no chain across the road. The tiger lilies had been replaced by some kind of hearty daisies. I knocked on the door and heard a small dog barking in reply.

  “Yes? May I help you?” a woman’s voice asked as she opened the door.

  “I’m here for Inspector Fynn.”

  “Inspector is it?” She gave off a small laugh.

  “You must be Mr Jardel, please come in… and welcome,” she said with a big smile.

  She was an attractive woman in her mid fifties. Her hair was silver white and had probably been blond at one time. She had taken very good care of herself. Her face though aged, was refined and she had a nice complexion, as well as sparkling bright eyes.

  “Very nice to meet you,” I said and returned her smile.

  “What a lovely sunny day, don’t you think, Mr Jardel?”

  “Certainly is… but Patrick, please...”

  “Fynn has told me so much about you, and he’s so happy that you’ve volunteered to help. I’m a bit useless when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Oh… no, he’s off on one of his famous walks. He should be back any moment now. Can I get you something, Patrick? Coffee? Tea? A drink?”

  “Coffee sounds good.”

  “Follow me to the kitchen then.”

  The little dog started barking. I bent down to give it a pat as it seemed friendly enough. “Well, if it isn’t Roxy… how are you, little guy?”

  Lorraine started laughing, “Roxy, you say? No, this is Asta.”

  “Asta?”

  “Yes, poor Roxy, the little dear… he ran off some months
ago. This is his replacement,” she whispered as if the dog might take offense.

  “So… how do you like Sand City?” I asked idly.

  “It’s very charming, though I’m looking forward to the slow season, when the hustle and bustle die down a bit.”

  “Well, don’t forget the Marathon in October.”

  “Are you running this year?”

  “Me? No way.” I smiled. “Soon enough you’ll be longing for the action.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Sand City can get pretty quiet in the off season.”

  “Just as I like,” Lorraine said and handed me a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “I do hope Tractus hasn’t lost track of time,” Lorraine said and glanced up at the kitchen clock. “I’m supposed to meet my sister in half an hour or so.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Elaine, of course…” She smiled. “Oh, we suffer, my sister and I, both policeman’s wives…” Lorraine laughed a little.

  “Pardon?”

  “My sister Elaine… she’s married to Leo Arantez.”

  “Oh right, I totally forgot. How is she?”

  “More to the point, how is Leo? He’s still in some pain after that dreadful baseball accident.”

  “And how’s Anika?”

  “Anika?” Lorraine asked, a little surprised it seemed. “You’ve met her before?”

  “Um, earlier in the summer.”

  “Of course, you were her escort to the Policeman’s Ball which I’ve heard so much about. Oh, that terrible night…”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Only that it was so sad to hear Leo had to retire.”

  “Well, Durbin’s a good man.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” Lorraine gave me another smile. “I will say Anika was quite right about you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She looked a bit embarrassed. We both heard a door opening, the sliders at the back. Asta went running to see. Fynn had returned and walked across the living room with a huge grin on his face.

  “Ah Patrick, I am very glad you’ve come. Everything is good?”

  “I think so… I just met your wife.”

  “Yes, isn’t she lovely?” He came over and gave Lorraine a big hug and a kiss. He turned to me. “You should be the first to know. I’ve decided to retire here… in your fair little city. I’m thinking of opening a private inspector business.”

  “Private Inspector?”

  “Isn’t that what you call it? A Private Eye?”

  “Oh, it’s Private Investigator.”

  “Ah, I see... well, that’s why I need your help so badly. I am going to hang my shingle in your town, as they say. I was hoping you could help smooth things over with Durbin. And perhaps you’d be interested in becoming a partner, hmm? We would investigate only the most interesting cases, the most confounding mysteries, eh? I think we could be quite a team, you and I... Have some adventures, perhaps even travel a bit. What do you say?”

  I was speechless for the moment… I started to think about licenses and business cards, and an office where he might set up.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to catch up on things. I have to rush off now. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Patrick,” Lorraine said and walked off.

  “Where’s Mortimer?” I asked Fynn, once we were alone.

  “I wish I could say.”

  “Wait, what do you mean by that exactly?”

  “Simply that.”

  “Are you lying to me in this timeline?”

  “No… I’ve lost track of him. Doubtless, he will return soon enough.”

  “To wreck havoc?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Well, what happened to him?”

  “He disappeared.”

  “As in vanished in the blink of an eye?”

  “No, as in running down the road like a madman and turning the corner.”

  “That might be a significant difference.”

  “I agree whole heartedly.”

  “And the jackal cane?”

  Fynn smiled and led me to the living room. “I believe we are safe so long as this cane remains undisturbed.”

  “Seriously though… where do you think Mortimer went?”

  “Likely he is stranded here… perhaps he is a very old man by now, or perhaps he has died of natural causes.”

  “What happened exactly?”

  “It was all fairly uneventful. I returned to the party in London, nineteen sixty-four. Mortimer, quite predictably, came at me with murderous intent. I was however prepared for exactly this. I wrestled away his cane and made my way back to the present, more or less.”

  “That’s it?” I was disappointed.

  “Rather anticlimactic, sorry to say.”

  “What about all that stuff Mortimer said?”

  “What stuff?”

  “At the quarry… His view of reality versus yours.”

  “Yes, they are distinctly different.”

  “And me, a time traveler?” I laughed nervously.

  “Have you ever traveled in time?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  There was a soft knock on the door. I turned to see a pretty young girl in her twenties poke her head in. “Pader?” a sweet voice called out, perhaps with a slight French accent.

  “Ah, Anika my dear, come in, come in… join us.”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “Not at all. You remember Patrick of course?”

  She was still absolutely stunning and probably on her way to the beach, judging from the bikini under her top and shorts. She came walking over and gave me a big hug. “Well, where have you been all summer, eh?”

  “Working mostly.”

  “You work too hard, I think,” she said and smiled. Anika turned to Fynn. “Pader, I’m on my way to meet some friends. Can I take the scooter?”

  “Of course, my dear. Drive carefully and have fun…” Fynn added something in Dutch and his daughter let off a giggle before departing.

  “What do you remember?” I asked Fynn as we sat in the living room.

  “Mostly everything.”

  “How many timelines?”

  “There is just the one, Patrick. The one you live through.”

  “Okay how many versions then, how many revisions.”

  “Ah, but this is more difficult to answer.”

  “Do you remember Arantez going to Holland for three months, the ICEP?”

  “Arantez in Holland? That’s difficult to imagine. And for three months you say? I doubt he’d last a week.”

  “The Policeman’s Ball?”

  “A great success,” Fynn said and smiled.

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, everything is as it should be, I believe.”

  I saw a book on the coffee table with Fynn’s name on it, but couldn’t make out the title, as it was in another language. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, I’ve finally finished writing my book.”

  “Really? The Quantum Detective?” I asked and smiled.

  “No.” Fynn laughed and picked up the book. “I write best in German. I will translate, Occidental Policing Methods in an Asian Cultural Context: Assignment Hong Kong.”

  “Why did you want to see me then?” I asked.

  “No special reason. I’d like to take you out to dinner this evening. I’ve heard the Governor’s Inn has a new chef…”

  “Hans or Pierre?”

  “I don’t suppose it really matters.”

  On our way out I noticed something a bit odd. “What’s that thing?” I asked and pointed to a metal box on the stoop.

  “For the milkman, of course.”

  “The milkman? I’m pretty sure he retired a few months back…”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What’s his na
me?”

  “His name is not known to me. Maybe Lorraine or Anika knows.” Fynn gave me a glance. “Do you think this is important?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Patrick, have you forgotten something?” Fynn asked.

  “What?”

  “My compass… is it safe?”

  “Of course.” I smiled, reached into my pocket and handed it to him. “Sorry.”

  Fynn smiled.

  “You can travel without it though?” I asked.

  “Oh yes… it just makes things a bit easier for me.”

  ***

  What I couldn’t see was the white truck pulling into Fynn’s driveway early the next morning. I wasn’t there, and most likely asleep. It wasn’t Marvin the milkman however. It was a different old man. He was tall but hunched with age. He had long white hair and a scraggily mustache. And he paid no attention to Fynn’s galvanized metal box on the stoop. Instead, he smashed through the glass entrance, opened the door and went right to the living room, right to the jackal-headed cane. His old hands wrapped around it fondly. It was a long lost friend. He brought the jackal to his lips and kissed it, climbed onto a nearby table and leapt off. He vanished in the blink of an eye.

  —

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  I sincerely hope you have enjoyed reading this story. And now, I implore you to take a moment to click the “like” button, add a few stars, or, if you have the mind to: write a brief review. In the modern world of ebooks, these simple actions mean the difference between life and death. My other books and more information can be found at this link:

  http://kmackdesign.com/books/allbooks.html

  Thank you.

  —MK Alexander

  About the author:

  MK Alexander has been writing fiction for more than 20 years and has published several short story collections. He is a long-time reporter and editor for various newspapers, and worked for The New York Times for well over ten years. Winner of the BBC Short Story Award. Recent titles include three novels, three novellas, a biography and short story compilation.

  Other Titles by MK Alexander:

  The Farsi Trilogy

  When the CIA has a clever cyber-war program to shut down Iran. But things never go according to plan. Meet Aydin Llewelyn, computer genius, deadbeat and accidental spy. Can he and his ex-girlfriend make it to Tehran and save the day? Find out in this fast-paced, amusing, twisty tale of travel and intrigue.