Turtle Tribbles

by Maggie Toussaint

  I wished I’d been more adventurous during my college years, but my brother’s death at sea and my subsequent fear of water kept me from seeking intern opportunities like this. That’s how I’d ended up writing for a science journal in Atlanta. The job had been safe, not scary. I’d gotten over my fear of water recently, but I would always have a huge respect for the sea. Fishing, boating, or swimming in the ocean would never be my first choice for recreation.

  “I may have news for you on Friday,” Selma said.

  Two days from now. “Oh?”

  “The wildlife agency is going to try something.”

  “Their top secret test?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  “You’ll have to be patient. This is for the good of my turtles.”

  ~*~

  Friday came, and each minute ticked slowly off my life clock as my phone didn’t ring. By noon, I couldn’t take the suspense any longer. I phoned Selma, and my call went straight to voice mail. I tried her again at three. Same result. Since I had her boss’s number, I tried that, only to be told that Dr. Jernigan hadn’t heard from her. I phoned the research center’s onsite answer gal. “Do you know where Miss Crowley is?” I asked.

  “She’s probably on the beach with her turtles,” the receptionist said, her voice cheery.

  Her good mood darkened mine. “I tried her phone already. Left messages. She isn’t returning my calls. I’m concerned about her.”

  “I’ll take a message and put it in the lab, hon. That’s all I can do.”

  I hung up, miffed. Selma was so passionate about her turtles. I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t returning my calls. Needing to talk to someone about this in person, I whistled up my dog, Bailey, a rescued black lab mix, and walked over to the Morrison County Sheriff’s Office.

  Ike was delighted to see me. He told his Deputy Alice Ann Harper, his sister, to hold his calls and watch Bailey. The office door locked behind us, he drew me into his arms for a senses-drugging kiss.

  “I’ve been thinking of you all day,” he murmured in my hair as his hands went to work on my clothes.

  The need to be with him thrummed in my head, in my heart, and I gave myself up to the heat of the moment.

  ~*~

  Afterward, we cuddled together in his chair. “We should do this more often,” Ike said. “Instead of lunch.”

  “Did Alice Ann hear us?” I asked as my thinking cleared.

  “Not if she knows what’s good for her.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, did you come over here to seduce me, or is something else on your mind?”

  “The Turtle Girl is on my mind. Selma Crowley isn’t returning my calls.”

  “She might be busy.”

  “All day? I doubt it. She has a flexible schedule. There was supposed to be a break in the turtle egg case by now. She said something was happening today.”

  “Is she on the island?”

  “I don’t know. The receptionist was vague.”

  Ike snorted. “She’s always vague. Not much between those ears.”

  I playfully punched his bare chest. “Get serious. I’m concerned about Selma. Something’s wrong.”

  “You got spidey senses now?”

  “No. But it’s like when I knew who killed the judge last fall. My gut says Selma’s in trouble. She really wants to catch this egg thief.”

  Ike gazed out the window for a few moments. “We could watch the ferry unload this evening.”

  That was a good idea. Selma hadn’t confirmed what time she’d have news today. Maybe she’d hop the last ferry and call me from the safety of the mainland.

  “I should go out there by myself. Since you’re a cop, you might spook her or whatever’s going down.”

  Ike’s arms tightened around me. “I insist on going with you.”

  The atmosphere in his office shifted from fun to stifling in a heartbeat. I tried to get clear of him, but his arms caged me like jail bars. “What gives you the right to insist? This a free country.”

  “You nearly died investigating the judge’s murder. I can’t take that chance again. I know you have this Nancy Drew, girl detective, streak in you. I can handle that. As long as I get to come with you. I can’t risk losing you, Linds.”

  The way his voice cracked melted my heart. He wasn’t locking me behind bars. He was helping me do my job. “Okay. You can come.”

  Chapter 3

  In the end, Ike’s eight year old son Trent and my dog accompanied us to the ferry landing. It was exciting seeing the large vessel power up the creek, the setting sun glazing the boat a golden hue. A dark-haired woman with a German shepherd also waited at the landing. She made it clear from her tight grip on her dog’s leash that she didn’t want the two dogs to socialize.

  Bailey whimpered and tugged at her leash, so she quickly became Ike’s responsibility. When she couldn’t get free, she sat and wagged her tail at every passerby.

  About twenty people disembarked. For the most part, the folks were dressed in business casual attire, and I assumed they worked at the research center. None of them stood around chitchatting. Everyone hurried to their cars and quickly departed.

  I recognized the cheerful secretary for the center, an ecologist I’d interviewed about rising sea levels, a couple from high school who’d gone native, and the maintenance guy who worked with Selma. But there was no Turtle Girl.

  “She’s not here,” I said to Ike when the last person trudged off the boat.

  “I’ll talk to the captain, find out when he last saw her,” Ike said, eyes narrowing as the other woman with the dog walked onboard the ferry. “Hmm.”

  He wrapped Bailey’s leash twice around my wrist. “Stay here. I need to check something out.”

  I meant to stay out of the way, but before I knew it, Trent, Bailey, and I were standing on the dock beside the ferry. Inside the cabin, Ike, the woman, and the captain searched around one particular bench seat.

  “What are they doing?” Trent said. “Is it a scavenger hunt? I’m good at finding things.”

  “I’m not sure, but your dad was clear we should wait outside.”

  Trent gave me an odd look. “You always do what he says?”

  Uh-oh. How would I get out of this jam? Then the answer popped in my head. “When it comes to you, I do. You’re his treasure.”

  Trent kicked the dock piling and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to be my new mom?”

  Now I was truly speechless. Ike had asked me to move in, but marriage hadn’t been offered. After a bad divorce, Ike was justifiably gun-shy. I was—I didn’t know what I was. Confused, mostly.

  I cleared my throat. “Your father and I haven’t talked about that, but I’m sure if it’s something Ike wants to consider, he’ll talk to you about it first.”

  “Well. It wouldn’t be terrible. I wanted you to know.”

  “Thanks.” With an endorsement like that, would I ever be mother material? Another disappointment in a strange day.

  My gaze returned to the boat. The woman gave her dog a treat and unclipped the leash. Her dog dashed onto the dock to see Bailey. Both dogs wagged tails. With the pedestrian and vehicle traffic cleared out, I removed Bailey’s leash so that they could play.

  Ike waved us aboard and introduced me to Rosa Rapido. She worked for the wildlife agency, and she was checking the boat and its passengers at Selma’s request. Both of us tried calling her phone again. No response, and her voice mail box was full.

  “According to the captain, the last time Selma rode the ferry was Tuesday when she came to the mainland to talk with you,” Ike said. “She returned to the island on the late ferry that day. He saw her meet you at the island’s ferry landing on Wednesday, but he didn’t see her yesterday or today. Unless she hopped a ride in someone’s boat, she’s still on the island.”

  “What’s special about this bench?” I asked.

  “My dog alerted on this location,” Rosa said. �
�Whoever sat here handled turtle eggs recently.”

  How long did scents hang around, I wondered. “It might be someone from the center who works with turtle eggs.”

  “Or it could be the egg poacher,” Rosa said.

  An egg-sniffing dog. That was the secret weapon. And it worked. Someone on the ferry had handled turtle eggs. “I thought the thieves used large containers to haul the eggs. I didn’t notice any big coolers or duffel bags. Most everyone had a briefcase, a small tote, or a backpack.”

  “I had Jamie sniff near the larger bags as people came by,” Rosa said. “We didn’t get a hit.”

  “This is so odd. Where is Selma? She put all of us in motion to be here. Why doesn’t she answer her phone? I’m concerned about her.” I turned to Ike. “Is it too soon to report her as a Missing Person?”

  “There’s no indication of foul play, violence, or danger. I have to follow protocol. I’ll check with her work and call her family to get a timeline of her activities,” Ike said.

  I wanted to go to the island right now. Why was I the only one feeling any urgency? “Something’s wrong. Selma wouldn’t have missed Rosa and the egg-sniffing dog for anything.”

  Ike studied the horizon before turning to me. “If you’re determined to search for her, I can requisition the law enforcement boat tonight, and the two of us can search the island for her, but it would be best to search in the daylight tomorrow. Less chance of missing something. We could take the first ferry over, and leave the speedboat at the ready on the mainland in case other responders need to join us.”

  A couple of hours of daylight remained. Probably not enough light by the time we got Trent situated with his aunt, made arrangements for dinner, and rode in the boat over to the island. And we wouldn’t have ground transportation over there on short notice. Those things had to be prearranged.

  I understood the time constraints. Sometimes I didn’t care much for being a grown-up. A sigh slipped out. “Tomorrow it is.”

  Chapter 4

  Overnight the wind shifted direction until we had a strong northeaster blowing. Spitting rain fell from the leaden sky in fits and bursts. On the beach the sand shifted and swirled until it felt like needles were pelting my skin.

  As soon as we hit the island this morning, we’d checked the dorm, talked to Selma’s friends, and looked around the research center. No leads. Periodically, I called her number as we searched, in case the phone was nearby. No luck.

  The Gator she used for transport was parked amongst the fleet, and it was pristine clean. As a precaution, Ike asked that no one touch that vehicle until we found her. After an exhaustive search of the center, we had no answers and a missing Turtle Girl.

  No one could place Selma after dinner on Wednesday. Her parents in west Georgia hadn’t heard from her, and they were told how to file a Missing Person’s Report. Ike called the mainland to put his deputies on alert.

  Ike checked out a Gator and drove us to the beach. We traversed the entire shore’s length near the tidal zone. There was no one walking on the beach this morning, no one was in sight. No large objects bobbed or rolled in the surf either. Every now and then, Ike stopped and scanned the sea and the sky.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “Birds.”

  I gestured down the beach. “Plenty of shorebirds out here.”

  “Not those kind of birds. Vultures.”

  Oh. The kind of birds that fed on road kill. “You think she’s . . . dead?”

  “Looking that way.”

  “I know turtle eggs are valuable and all that, but killing someone over turtle eggs seems farfetched.”

  “Unless she caught the thief in the act. He might have had priors or a reason to avoid arrest.”

  “In my book, a human life is worth way more than some turtle eggs.”

  “Which is why you’re not a criminal, hon. Not everyone thinks the way you do.”

  His distracted tone was at odds with his comforting words. A glance at Ike confirmed he was in full hunter mode. Everything about him was on high alert. No doubt about it, he had the skills for this job. But at what cost?

  I found my voice. “Does this job keep you awake at night?”

  “Not usually, but some cases are personal.”

  From the intense way he glanced at me, I surmised I was personal to him. Without his stubborn determination to find me a few months ago, I’d be sleeping with the fishes. His tenacity served me well. How would Selma fare?

  Ike stopped the Gator. “This isn’t productive. She showed you the nest locations, right?”

  I nodded, and he continued. “You drive, and as best you can remember, show me every nest.”

  We swapped seats. “The ones with the low stakes are easy to spot, but some nests aren’t marked now.” I explained Selma’s system of removing the markers and using GPS coordinates to catalog the nests.

  “What about new nests? Do you remember where those are?”

  “There were several she pointed out as less than a week old. I’ll try to find them for you.” I angled away from water’s edge, taking us to the high beach. The sand was really blowing up here, but the misting rain had stopped. I was glad for the vehicle’s windshield protecting my eyes.

  We zigged and zagged from nest to nest, hovering in the high beach area as we searched. Nothing looked undisturbed. Nothing looked like a Turtle Girl. I stopped at the tail end of the beach, out of ideas and out of luck.

  “This is pointless,” I said. “She’s not here.”

  Ike shook his head. “She’s here all right. I smell something.”

  We were in the most downwind position on the beach. I sniffed and got nothing. I sniffed again, deeper. There it was. A faint tinge of something spoiled. My gut knotted at the implications. “You sure?”

  “Positive. I can take you to the research center. You don’t need to help me search the dunes for Selma’s body.”

  Her body. I cringed inside. I’d feared the worst, but I had trouble accepting the finality of it. We were too late. The compassionate young woman who spent all hours of the day and night protecting our endangered turtle nesting sites was no more. She’d been the picture of health. If she was dead, it wasn’t likely from natural causes. Such a tragedy.

  Selma had been right all along. She had tribbles in large measure, and now they’d killed her. Furry space creatures weren’t to blame. A person did this to her.

  It was hard to breathe, hard to swallow. I’d compounded her problems with my story demands, not knowing the consequences would be so costly. I had responsibility here. Selma had come to me for help, and I’d let her down. I wouldn’t fail her in death.

  My gaze lifted to the heavens momentarily as I said a prayer for her. “I want to help. Selma tried to get evidence for me because I couldn’t run her story with conjecture. She knew I need proof of the theft. If I hadn’t demanded proof, she might be alive.”

  “Blaming yourself won’t change anything. Ms. Crowley made her choices. She could’ve let the wildlife dog sniff out the egg thief before she checked the nests again. She could’ve been more aware of her safety. You’re not responsible for whatever happened to her.”

  Easy enough for him to say as we rolled toward the dunes. Something about the dune line bothered me. That short one. It wasn’t here before. “I see something odd.”

  “Got a bead on it myself,” Ike said. “Sure you don’t want to wait elsewhere?”

  I gritted my teeth. “I’m certain.” I parked a little ways from the new berm and steeled my nerve.

  Ike bolted out of the Gator and headed to the north end of the berm. I followed in his footsteps, but truthfully, the sand around the berm looked pristine. No tire tracks, no footprints. If this was a crime scene, the wind had scoured the scene.

  With an oyster shell he found on the beach, Ike carefully moved sand from the upwind side of the berm. The smell of death was strong here. No doubt in my mind that this was Selma’s untimely grave.

  Anothe
r swipe of his oyster shell scoop and human toes showed. As Ike carefully brushed sand away, more of the toes became visible. The second one bore a toe ring, and the nails were painted a familiar lilac. Ike’s head sagged, and his shoulders stooped. “Found her.”

  Chapter 5

  Deputy Alice Ann Harper and her boyfriend Jimmy had been fishing in the nearby sound, so they arrived on the beach in fifteen minutes, anchoring their boat in the creek behind the island and trekking over the dunes to meet us. They set about defining the crime scene and photographing the uncovered corpse.

  As he assisted the deputies, Ike handled calls to the coroner and other authorities regarding the discovery and notification process. I phoned Selma’s boss at the university. Dr. Jernigan was appalled and said she would drive down to the coast the next day.

  A small crowd gathered on the beach as the news spread. Most were islanders but some worked for the research center. The young adults wept openly. I envied them that freedom of expression. I was heartsick about Selma, but I would grieve for her in private. It was the McKay way.

  Noontime came and went, as did the ferry. Ike made arrangements for the island women to provide sandwiches and sodas for his team. I wasn’t allowed near the crime scene, though I knew in one glance that Selma hadn’t been shot or drowned. Someone had smashed the back of her head with an object. Blunt force trauma.

  Had she known someone was behind her? Had she died at once or was it a slow death? Should I have insisted on coming over here last night? No, Ike had been right on that. I wouldn’t have seen the Selma-shaped berm in the dark.

  My newspaper camera was in my tote bag, but Ike had cautioned me against using it. I knew the drill, and there was no way I’d blow this case for him. I snuck a few “safe” shots of the crime scene tape and the people standing on the beach. The dark sky overhead added to the grim scene.

  I wanted to help, but what could I do? The cops focused on the immediate area around Selma. Seemed to me that her killer had either lain in wait for her, arranged to meet her, or been surprised by her presence.