“You need coffee?” Delaney asked as Casper shut the passenger door. The morning air was balmy, and for once he was grateful for the lack of AC in the old sedan.
“Nope, all good. Ready to go.”
“Well, I do. We’re going to stop at the Brewster Store. Need to follow up on another lead on our way over to interview Renard.”
The old wooden floors groaned under the weight of Casper’s feet as he followed Delaney into the small white building known as the Brewster Store. The sign had worn down, but it didn’t seem to bother anybody inside or out. They all apparently knew the store well enough anyway and didn’t mind the locals steering clear. A bell rang as it slammed against the door when they pushed it open and entered the cramped space. Shelves were everywhere, lined with novelty goods; sweatshirts and coffee mugs with the words “Brewster Store” stenciled on. One section, just to their right upon entry, seemed to be entirely for candy. A small handwritten sign indicated that a patron could fill one of the Ziploc bags that hung from the post and pay by weight.
Delaney was already at the front counter chatting with the cashier when Casper realized he had fallen behind. He rushed to join her, breathing heavily from the narrow walls that seemed to reach out and push at him. The congestion of the store was a recipe for disaster; Casper knew he had to get out. He kicked himself for not bringing Hoagie along. Delaney glared at him as he approached, but continued with her conversation with the elderly man behind the counter.
“Is she working today?”
“Yeah, she’s in the back working on some pastries. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Yes, please. And I think I know the answer to this but, do you have security cameras in here?”
“We actually do. Just one fixed on the register. Insurance company required it when we re-upped last year. We told ‘em nobody would ever rob us, but they don’t know Brewster like we do.”
“That’s great. Can you grab Betsy and pull up the footage from Monday morning for me?”
“With pleasure, Detective,” the man said and retreated to the back of the store.
She turned to face Casper. “Are you okay? You’re sweating like you’re in a sauna.”
“I don’t like small spaces like this. Makes me uncomfortable,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Yeah, it’s a mess in here. You can go wait outside. I just need to confirm an alibi with Betsy Ryan. Go get yourself some air, you’re turning purple.”
Casper rushed out of the store without a word. He caught his breath on a wooden bench next to a window box of purple and pink impatiens. Delaney joined him a few minutes later with a frown on her face.
“No luck?” he asked.
“None. She confirmed Morris Hanifin was here most of that morning. Said she couldn’t get him to leave. Security footage backs it up.” She looked Casper up and down. “How are you feeling? I’ve got a Nalgene in my car if you need a drink.”
“I’m all right. Sorry about that. Happens sometimes. Hoagie helps usually.”
“Can I ask you what happened?”
“It’s not a great story, to be honest. I was on a case where people thought a haunted house was actually haunted. I tripped over one of my two left feet and stumbled into an old coffin that was built to open and close when people walked by. Some sort of motion sensor. Well, I was stuck in there for three hours before somebody came looking for me. It felt like the walls were closing in and I had to fight for air. I’d already been an anxious person, but this was the last straw, I guess. So, I’ve done my best to avoid situations that are cramped and tight.”
Delaney stared at him blankly. “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or if that actually happened.”
“Swear to Hoagie that it’s a true story. He’s actually part of the remedy. I’m still working through it all.”
She nodded. “Well, tell me if something sets you off in the future. We can always split up if we need to, but don’t want you getting all sweaty and panicky on me, okay?”
“Deal. I think I met Morris on my first day in Brewster, actually.”
“Yeah? What’d you make of him?”
“Well, he was cursing out the waiter at the coffee house for no good reason. Seemed like a real piece of work. You think he’s good for this?”
“Tell me, in all of your supernatural expertise, can somebody be in two places at once?”
“Unless he’s got a twin you don’t know about or an alternate version of him jumped in from a different timeline…”
Delaney laughed. “You’re absurd, you know that? I was looking for a simple, ‘Nope!’”
“Well, no. It’s not possible.”
“Then he’s off the list and we’re back to our search for a needle in a haystack with no clue as to what the needle looks like.”
“Step by step. Let’s keep gathering facts,” Casper reaffirmed. “Facts tell us the real story here and help us eliminate the unknown factor that brought me onto this case in the first place.”
“Trying to get off the case already, Casper Kelly?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Great. Well, let’s go to the beach then!”
TWENTY-FIVE
Thursday, August 9th
Breakwater Landing sat on the bay, just off route 6A past the Brewster Store and its cellar neighbor, The Brewster Scoop. In the evening hours, the narrow streets between the two are lined with visitors clamoring towards the sand with ice cream cones held high, dropping melted sugary flavors onto the steamy asphalt. The public section of the beach was one of the most tourist-heavy spots in Brewster. Parking spots were treated like golden tickets and frequently traded for cash in hand. Metallic red trash cans lined the ocean side of the dune between the lot and the beginning of the sandy beach. Seagulls swooped in the ever-present breeze to relieve unwitting beachgoers of their chips or salty snacks.
Just south of the public beach was a private beach, the access limited to the full-time residents of the small neighborhood that dead-ended at its entrance. Gentle dunes protected a soft, white-sand beach that stretched no more than fifty yards wide. The tide, which danced in and out throughout the day, seemed nearly a mile away when it reached its low point. When Casper and Delaney arrived, the water was out so far it was tough to see, but a few brave souls splashing around in the shallow waters helped orient their vision.
Delaney’s ankles rolled slightly as she navigated the awkward sand in dress shoes. Casper didn’t fare much better. They weaved their way through two families under umbrellas who glanced with great concern about the visiting detectives.
“Tate and Keri said he’d be over at the bluffs. They’re over the side there. They separate the private and public beach,” Delaney said over the ocean breeze.
Casper followed as Delaney crossed the moist sand that would only hold water in the highest of tides. As they rounded past a house that sat out on top of a boulder, Casper saw a section of rocks that stood tall and wide. A man sat next to a small opening inside with a canvas on an easel, facing the sea.
The man’s greasy brown hair was slicked back and curled to a point beneath his neckline. A patchy, rough beard covered most of his face like moss on a log. Casper noticed the man’s piercing blue eyes, which were sunken yet illuminating amongst the rough exterior. He looked familiar, and Casper soon realized that he was the man from the coffee shop who had eased tensions between Morris and Ian.
Renard remained fixated on the sea despite their arrival. He seemed to study it with occasional squints and flickers of comprehension where he’d point his pale-blue eyes back down to the canvas and add a touch of paint. He wore ratty jeans and a short-sleeve button-down shirt that revealed a slew of tattoos on his chest.
“Mr. Renard?” Delaney prompted.
“Who are you?” he responded without looking in their direction.
“I’m Detective Shepard with the Brewster PD. This is Casper Kelly, a consultant who is helping us with a missing persons case. Can we ask you a few ques
tions?”
Renard looked Delaney up and down slowly, methodically, in a way that made time stand still. Once satisfied, he shifted his eerie glare to Casper and moved even slower. Casper’s skin prickled with goosebumps.
“You’re talking about the Punkhorns mess? Yeah?” He had turned back to his canvas, but his tone was less guarded.
“Yes, Melanie Strong, Aaron Sun and Grace Lee,” Casper added.
Renard looked back up at the two and then out to sea. “I have to finish this piece before the tide pulls back out all the way. I keep chasing the tides, but I can’t quite seem to get them right.”
“They have charts for that online. Ones that tell you when it’s going in and out and such,” Delaney added. Casper wondered if she was provoking their interviewee on purpose or was just being absent-minded. Renard didn’t take the bait.
A grin broke out across Renard’s face as he put the paint set down and stood. The rank smell of his body odor seeped into Casper’s nose, and he noticed Delaney shiver from the scent as well. It didn’t seem like Renard spent a lot of time around people.
“Where are my manners?” Renard added with a grin that poked out between the strands of his beard. “I’m Tommy Renard, as you asked. I don’t know a lick about those poor folks in the woods, but then again, the Punkhorns are one big mystery to me.”
Delaney paused, brow furrowed, and Casper could tell that she was thrown off by the sudden change in tone. He stepped in. “You’ve lived there for a while though; do you think the Punkhorns are haunted?”
Renard wiped sand off his bare foot while he thought over an answer. “I don’t know if haunted is the word, but I’m sure as hell scared of that place. You’ve heard the stories. This whole missing people thing all but confirms it. I’m grateful for an opportunity to start over somewhere else. Maybe my next place won’t have a hollowed-out forest as a backyard,” he laughed. “I don’t know a lick about those missing folks though, although I’d bet my last dollar that if y’all keep exploring those woods, more bad shit is going to follow. Just seems wise to cut and run.”
Casper looked at the man’s canvas and changed the subject. “That’s an impressive painting, Mr. Renard. Breakwater is quite a beautiful beach and you’ve captured it well.”
Renard rotated the canvas so both Casper and Delaney could see. An abstract blend of green and blue hues floated in the water as it ascended and crashed onto the rocky beach ahead. A small cave sat under the jetty, which Casper did his best to forget and ignore. He noticed the opening was filled halfway with water. Casper again fixed his eyes on the other parts of the painting. Empty beach chairs were scattered about the beach, absent the people that once used them. In the wave, Casper could make out small fish and hermit crabs painted with great detail.
“This is my favorite spot in Brewster, although it’s got nothing on the bluffs out by Provincetown. Glad you like it!” Renard was elated.
“Something special about this beach to you?” Delaney asked.
“Not quite. I’ve painted a landscape of each beach along the shoreline here. This is my only one of Breakwater. It’s taken me a few tries since the tide is so fickle,” He put the painting back on the canvas. “I know those charts tell you when high and low tides are, but on the bay like this, the variance is so wide. It’s truly a mess.”
“Well, it’s an impressive work, sir. Do you mind if I push through the last set of questions we have so you can get back to putting the finishing touches on it?” Delaney asked. Renard nodded.
“Do you have any ill will towards Baxter Construction?”
“No, ma’am. Like I said, I’m happy for the cash and the fresh start.”
“Do you have any information or idea about what happened to any of the three missing people?”
“No, ma’am. Like I said, they’re just lost to the Punkhorns.”
“And have you seen or heard anything on your property that may be linked to any of the three missing people?”
“No, ma’am. An occasional runner will pass by on the trail that runs by my house, but I haven’t seen those folks. I’m sorry, truly. I wish I had.”
Delaney nodded and glanced at Casper. “One more question, if you don’t mind,” Casper said.
“Shoot,” Renard grinned back.
“If you thought the Punkhorns were haunted for all these years, why didn’t you move?”
“Ah, you know, when I first moved here, I was married. Newlywed. Definition of the word. Cheryl, she loved the Cape and had this whole dream of living in a beach house. Of course, we couldn’t afford to rent a room in a motel, let alone buy a beach house. So, we settled for a spot where you could walk to the pond. Then she up and left me without so much as a whisper of a warning. I guess part of me holds on to the place thinking that she may come back.”
Casper nodded. He didn’t want to push into the man’s pain any further. He wondered if he could handle such a loss without completely breaking down. Delaney thanked Renard, and they retreated to their car. The rocky bluff that Renard painted on top of seemed to be packed with rocks, but water crept out through small openings between the stones. Casper turned back to the sea, trying to see with the artist’s eye that Renard seemed to have.
He watched birds soar in the sky and wondered if they knew where to land safely. He considered that the Punkhorns might not appear so daunting from above, possibly appearing like a welcome spot to rest along their journey. Casper’s daydreaming was interrupted by Delaney calling his name.
He turned and saw that Delaney had already left the beach and stood atop the dune they’d climbed from the parking lot. She jogged towards him. “Casper, we gotta go.”
Casper walked towards her and then broke into a jog, following her lead. “What’s going on?” he yelled over the seagull cries and playing beachgoers.
“We’ve got to head to the station,” she said all in one breath.
“Why? What’s going on?” Panic set in.
She spoke calmly and firmly. “I think I am starting to believe the Punkhorns are haunted after all.”
Casper’s eyes widened and tried to process her newfound belief. “Why now?”
“I just got a call. Another person went missing in the Punkhorns.”
TWENTY-SIX
Thursday, August 9th
Rachel put on a black dress jacket over her white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. She’d been hoping to find her maroon top, but she’d misplaced it amid her furious attempt to pack her bags before she’d lost the nerve to quit her job. Unfortunately, it was as she tried to zip up the overstuffed suitcase that the Chief of Police called. She cursed the black-magic that seemed to plague her suitcase, which was neatly packed upon arrival but now seemed to reject the same volume it held previously. Upon answering, Chief Slimmer asked her to come down to the station. Although he’d assured her she was in no trouble at all, Rachel’s heart raced beneath her sweat-soaked shirt, victim to the heat trapped by the heavy jacket.
Her mind raced on the four-minute drive to police headquarters. She was thankful in that moment for the quaintness of Brewster, worried that if she had any longer of a drive, she’d on the side of the road dry-heaving from pure anxiety. As she opened the large glass double-doors that led to the lobby of the police station, she did her best to wipe signs of stress from her face. After a quick glance in the reflection on the glass pane of the door, she thought she appeared composed and relaxed.
Chief Slimmer waited in the lobby. He resembled a jelly bean onto which somebody had glued googly eyes. He greeted her with the usual pleasantries before escorting her to the back of the station. The interior was much different than she’d expected, based on movies and TV shows where desks are jam-packed like sardines in a can. Here, there were a few barren desks in a bullpen-like style, but plenty of space to walk through. When he held the door open, Rachel saw that the man and woman who’d interviewed her after the search party were waiting in the office.
“Miss Spokes, you know Mr. Kelly and Dete
ctive Shepard,” the chief’s voice boomed in the tiny room. “I’m very glad you could come in; I hope we aren’t keeping you from anything important.”
Rachel thought of the lumpy, hastily packed suitcase sitting at the foot of her bed, but was delighted by the thought that she’d be doing something more important than helping the police. “Not at all. What can I do for you all? Did I leave something out of my story when we spoke earlier, Detective Shepard?”
Chief Slimmer interrupted the detective before she could respond. “No, this is, well, this is about something a bit different. Ann Peck said you came by to see the mayor the other day? Is that right?”
Rachel nodded.
“The mayor said you had a bit of a dust-up with your boss, Mr. Baxter,” Slimmer continued. “Can you tell me your version of how that went down?”
Rachel nearly laughed at the term dust-up but held herself together. “I went to ask him to stop construction, well, more so delay it. Just until we could find those poor people. I was pretty unnerved by what we found under that Baxter sign. It’s terrible.”
“And he threatened you?”
“Not necessarily. He seemed to more threaten the town itself. And anybody who got in his way.”
The chief put on reading glasses and pulled out a piece of paper. “I don’t care if it’s a birdwatcher, I’ll wipe out anything in my way. I’ll wipe out this whole city,” he read robotically. “Are those his exact words to you?”
“Something along those lines, yes,” Rachel said.
The detectives and the chief looked at one another, and the look they exchanged chilled Rachel to the core. “Did something happen? Is BJ okay?”
“He’s fine, Miss Spokes. But we had an incident yesterday in the Punkhorns,” the chief looked up at Detective Shepard as he spoke. “We’re just trying to gather all the relevant evidence here and see if there’s any connection to the other disappearances.”
Welcome to the Punkhorns (Shepard & Kelly Book 1) Page 13