Turtle Tribbles

by Maggie Toussaint

  Unless it was the laying-in-wait option, the crime had been spontaneous, meaning the killer had used an object at hand to strike her. There were no obvious blunt force objects in sight. No rocks. No baseball bats. No hammers. I shuddered thinking about the horrible pain Selma must have endured.

  I’d have nightmares after this, for sure, but so far, I’d managed not to throw up after seeing another dead body. We were far from the main beach access that most people used. I started walking in the high beach area and stopping at any nest marker I found. All were labeled in the last four to six weeks.

  The island was narrow here, the forest and the homes were north of us. Behind the dunes were beach meadow plants, if I was remembering right from my college ecology class. I tried Selma’s phone a couple of times as I walked. It hadn’t been on her body. There was a slim chance it had been lost during a confrontation.

  After my tenth dialing attempt, I heard a faint reply. I turned in the direction of the sound. A few more calls, and I had it. The bright pink case glimmered in the sand. I phoned Ike and told him. Minutes later, Alice Ann and Jimmy arrived in Ike’s Gator. They went through the routine of photographing and bagging the evidence.

  “Way to go, Lindsey,” Alice Ann said. “The battery in this phone is nearly dead. A few more hours, and we wouldn’t have found it at all.”

  “I hope it’s helpful,” I said, sighing out my frustrations. “I feel so bad for Selma. Her summer job got her killed. In what world is that right?”

  “We can learn a lot from people’s smart phones. We’ll get this charged. Jimmy’s kid brother is really good with tech stuff. With a few keystrokes, he can tell us where she went and who she talked to.”

  “Great. We need to catch this thief-turned-killer.”

  ~*~

  The rest of the weekend flew by. From Ike, I learned Selma’s parents drove down from north Georgia on Sunday and identified her body. The coroner officially ruled her death a homicide, and Ike became too busy to talk to me. Was the distancing because I was The Media?

  Whatever the reason, I still had a paper to run. I wrote a press release on Selma’s death for our Gazette website and also started the longer article I would run in Wednesday’s paper. We would find this killer, and he would pay for his crime.

  I hoped.

  Selma’s smiling photo while driving the Gator would go on page one. No, I couldn’t do that. That would be tacky to sensationalize her death. Did I want to be that kind of paper? I could use one of my pics of the crowd viewing the crime scene, the one with the darkest sky in the background. Then I could offer the lovely picture of Selma to her parents for the full obit.

  Fortunately, I was saved from a morality introspection by a phone call. My assistant Ellen announced that Dr. Jen Jernigan was on the line.

  We talked for a few minutes before Selma’s boss got around to why she called.

  “We recovered Selma’s log book from her locker,” Jen said. “I had Buzz cut the lock off this morning with the cops watching. I’m not sure why the log book was locked away if she’d been working at the time of her death. Be that as it may, I don’t understand her shorthand. The cops took the logbook, but they allowed me to copy the pages so that I could give them to our replacement Turtle Girl.”

  “The replacement doesn’t understand the abbreviations either?”

  “No. Selma invented her own nomenclature. Worse, she didn’t keep the online log current. The bulk of her research to date is on these pages, but we’re not sure what it says.”

  Odd. When I spoke with Selma last week, she sounded like an organized person. “I’ll help any way I can. I took notes on her process while I interviewed her, but I may not have all the information you seek.”

  “Anything would be better than the nothing we’ve got now. When can you return to the island?”

  “I’m birthing a paper. I should be clear in the morning though. Can I catch the noon ferry over for an afternoon visit?”

  “That works. Meanwhile, I’ll have Minnie Lee start with taking an inventory of the marked nests.”

  “Selma removed ten markers the other day when I was there. Those nests are tracked solely with GPS positions.”

  “I’m hoping that’s what most of this gibberish is.”

  “We can match the data in her log with my Wednesday interview. I know what those numbers mean.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Listen, I’ve been wondering about this. What kind of tools did Selma routinely carry in her Gator for work?”

  “Nothing fancy. A flashlight. A shovel. Resealable plastic bags. A first aid kit. I don’t know what all else.”

  “When I saw her Gator on Saturday morning, it held no gear. Where did it go?”

  “I’ll have Minnie Lee look for it. She should know where Selma kept things.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She worked on the island on another project until last week when her grant money ran out. Last year her best friend was the previous Turtle Girl, so she knows the job. I contacted her straight away to fill Selma’s position, and she accepted. Even moved into Selma’s dorm room.”

  “I see.” And I did see. Minnie Lee profited from Selma’s death. She was familiar with the island and the intern job. She’d been out of work, and now she had a job. That sounded like motive to me.

  Chapter 6

  “Keep your news-hound nose out of my case,” Ike said over burgers and sweet potato fries with his son that evening.

  The heat of the day had eased and where we dined on his screened back porch was lovely. You’d never know this was a guy’s home. Everything had a place, a neatness quality I admired. Even the yard was tidy and trimmed. Ike had built a home here in the woods for him and his son after the divorce. Off and on all evening, I’d been looking around, wondering if this could ever feel like my place.

  I wanted clarity, but being with him was like getting caught in a riptide. We were both strong, independent people, and his tendency to boss me around chaffed more than my pride.

  “I’m not sticking my nose into anything. Dr. Jernigan invited me to help her and Minnie Lee decipher Selma’s shorthand. I’m going over there tomorrow.”

  “I wish you would wait a few days.”

  At least he wasn’t forbidding me. That was a step in the right direction. “Are you close to making an arrest?”

  He pushed his empty plate away and gave me his full attention. “Are you asking as my girlfriend or as the newspaper editor?”

  “Depends.” I grinned. “Is the answer different?”

  “This is an ongoing investigation. The Crowleys have political pull, as it turns out. The wife is the governor’s cousin. They’re threatening to bring in one of those TV docudrama shows to solve the homicide. The mayor’s calling several times a day. He wants the case to be solved before the upcoming festival.”

  “You can handle the pressure, Ike Harper. You were always cool under fire on the football field.”

  “That was then and this is now. In the innocence of youth, I thought I couldn’t be hurt. But now I know that I bleed just like the next guy. Worse, if I make the wrong move or arrest the wrong person, I’m doing everyone a disservice. I need to do this right.”

  He wouldn’t guilt me into caving. I sat back and barred my arms across my chest. “So do it right. I’m not pressuring you to solve the case yesterday. But, this Minnie Lee girl benefitted from Selma’s death. Seems like motive to me.”

  “Motive.” He snorted. “Far as I know, she wasn’t on the island when Selma was murdered. I reviewed the ferry’s passenger logs for the two weeks before to the homicide. Minnie Lee left the island the week before Selma went missing and if she returned to the island before we found Selma, she didn’t use the ferry.”

  I absorbed those thoughts, wishing I had my notepad. Ike must have seen a certain gleam in my eye. “You can’t print any of that, you hear? I’m thinking out loud,” he said.

  “You should do more of it.” I gave him
my most encouraging smile. “What else did the ferry logs tell you?”

  “We’ve identified everyone who rode the ferry recently. All except for one guy, Ozzie Shaniman. No one knows who he is.”

  Ozzie. Not a common name. Could that be Selma’s Ozzie from college? “How old was he?”

  “That wasn’t on the log, but I talked to the skipper. Said he was a college kid. Went over on one ferry and returned on the next one. I don’t think he’s relevant.”

  “He sounds like Selma’s ex-boyfriend. He came down to rekindle their relationship, but she wanted nothing to do with him.”

  Ike startled. “How do you know this?”

  I relaxed, sipped my tea, and perversely enjoyed his discomfort. “She confided in me that he’d visited her.”

  “People tell you things. How do you get them to talk?”

  “It just happens. At the time, I was peeved, if you want to know the truth. Selma wanted to be responsible and respected like me one day. I’m barely eight years older than she was, and her comment chaffed. It made me feel twenty years older than I am. I was jealous of her youth and naiveté, and now she’ll never be my age.”

  “You look pretty hot if you ask me, despite your advanced years.”

  I playfully punched his arm and nodded to where his son played with my dog. “Trent might hear.”

  He leaned in and lowered his voice. “You know what I’d rather be doing.”

  Hard to miss that particular heat in his eyes. We both enjoyed the constancy of our physical attraction. He was ready for the next step. I’d gotten cold feet. I stacked the dishes to settle my thoughts. “I do, but we’re on good behavior right now. What about the turtle egg thief? I haven’t heard a peep about it.”

  “I asked Rosa to keep her investigation under wraps. The turtle egg thief might be our killer, or it might be someone from the island.”

  “Or the new Turtle Girl. Or the ex-boyfriend,” I added helpfully.

  “Neither of whom is on record as using the ferry for transport.”

  Reading between the lines, his wry tone came just shy of calling my ideas worthless. Why was he being so short-sighted? “You could find out if either of them has a boat or knows someone with a boat.”

  “If my other leads run dry, I might.”

  Talk about a brick wall. I tried another approach. “What about Selma’s phone?”

  “Nothing unusual in her calls or messages.”

  Hmm. “What about the missing gear from Selma’s Gator? Did it turn up?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know anything was missing.”

  “Well, it is. Dr. Jernigan confirmed that this afternoon. All of Selma’s Turtle Girl supplies are gone.”

  “That is odd,” Ike began slowly, “but those items could have been stored elsewhere by someone trying to be helpful. It doesn’t necessarily mean the turtle egg thief is behind her death.”

  “I disagree. Why would gear be missing if it wasn’t relevant? I need to look around over there. Besides, the turtle egg thief does his dirty work when no one’s looking. It’s unlikely he would kill me in broad daylight. I see no good reason why I can’t go over to the island tomorrow.”

  Ike rubbed his chin and studied me with cop eyes. After a long moment he nodded. Another woman might’ve backed down from his steely glare, but this was a turning point in our relationship. I knew it, and if he had the sense I credited him with, he knew it too.

  “Let me clear a few hours from my day to accompany you,” Ike said. “We can take the law enforcement boat and not be constrained by the ferry schedule.”

  A boat ride alone with Ike. A compromise, but precious time alone with my guy. I smiled. “Works for me.”

  Chapter 7

  The wind still blew out of the northeast, giving a solid chop to the sound. As Ike kept the throttle maxed out, I found it easier to absorb the bounce of the boat if I stood.

  I’d packed a picnic lunch hoping we could take a break and enjoy the peaceful solace of the island before we returned. Ike looked so at ease captaining the boat, I felt guilty for having any residual nervousness about being on the water. To his credit, Ike hadn’t batted an eyelash when I insisted on wearing a life jacket. He’d also slipped one on, though his wasn’t belted.

  I had a super healthy respect for what a tiny speck a small craft was on the surface of a vast, rippling body of water. If I ever found myself adrift in the sea again, I needed the security of a life vest. I wasn’t scared anymore. I was prepared.

  When the island’s landing came into view, Ike moored at a floating dock behind the main pier. The Dockmaster helped with the lines. Behind him stood Buzz, the mechanic from the research center.

  I removed my life vest, changed from a ball cap to a wider brimmed hat for sun protection, and gathered my reporter gear. Ike hefted our mini-cooler onto the dock, and I shouldered my tote. Ever the business professional, I’d worn a jaunty blue capris slacks set with a breezy cotton tank and matching sneakers.

  “Dr. Jernigan asked me to be your escort today,” Buzz said, reaching for my tote after I stood on the dock.

  The feminist in me wanted to hang onto the tote, but even as my knuckles tightened on the straps, I caught the glare Ike sent me. We were supposed to observe and not make waves.

  Ike had made a slight concession to being low profile. He hadn’t worn tactical gear or a belt full of people-stoppers. His badge and gun were clearly visible, however.

  I summoned a smile and followed Buzz to a new-looking, four-seater Gator. “Thanks. We’re headed to the center to meet with Dr. Jernigan and Minnie Lee.”

  When Ike climbed in the back, I had a choice of seats. It was a no-brainer for me. I climbed in the backseat with Ike, which elicited a smile. He reached for my hand, and I slipped my fingers in his. He was here because he cared about my safety and wellbeing. That meant something.

  That meant everything.

  As the utility vehicle traveled down the road, my thoughts about Ike cleared. I loved him. He loved me. Even though he’d never said the words, he’d shown it in many ways. When I first said the L-word to him, his eyes had glistened.

  I loved his man of action style, but words were my life’s stock. I didn’t need a ring on my finger. This was the twenty-first century after all. I should be satisfied with the status quo, but I couldn’t quite gloss over my neediness. It kept bubbling back to the surface.

  Turning from my personal thoughts, I surveyed our surroundings. The enclave of buildings around a central courtyard had a dated feel, but in a good way. The old-fashioned architecture signaled a slower pace over here. It reminded me that everything wasn’t geared for speed. This research center was a place of creativity and intellectual dreaminess. A place that spoke to my muse.

  Inside the office, the bubbly receptionist greeted us like we were long-lost family. Dr. Jernigan came out of her office, shook hands, and invited us into her office. She was a pant-suited, thirty-something woman with a prowling stride. Her chin length hair was stacked and sprayed just so. If she wore makeup, it was applied to look invisible. From her lean and muscled physique I guessed she ran marathons.

  “So nice to finally meet you,” Dr. Jernigan said after we were seated around a small work table. “Thank you for helping us with the data interpretation. Minnie Lee, who will be here in a few minutes, has no idea what Selma’s notations mean.”

  No idea? That seemed beyond odd. I set my tote down by my chair. “Have you reviewed the entries, Dr. Jernigan?”

  “Please call me Jen. I glanced at the pages, but I didn’t spend much time with them. Minnie Lee needs to understand the process or she isn’t a good fit here.”

  Reading between the lines, Minnie Lee’s job was on the line if she didn’t interpret her predecessor’s data in a useful way. From this, I inferred Jen Jernigan ruled her domain of interns in a Darwinian manner. Survival of the fittest.

  I kept my expression bland. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Minnie Lee blew in like a
gusty storm. Laughing, smelling of sun lotion and sea breeze, long, honey brown curls mussed, feet sandy and bare, logbook in hand. “Sorry. It took me a little longer than I thought to complete the nest inventory this morning. I started at two a.m. today, and two turtles came ashore and nest. That was awesome. There’s nothing like the magic of a turtle crawling out to sea at dawn. I have pictures!”

  “I’d love to see them later,” I said, catching Jen’s immediate scowl. Jen Jernigan was not a happy camper. Was her irritation at me or her employee?

  On the other hand, Minnie Lee seemed puppy friendly. The dynamic between these two women was strained. Jen was clearly the boss, but she seemed dismissive toward her recent hire.

  “Oh. Sure thing,” Minnie Lee said. She raised a marbled composition book in the air. “I have the logbook. Anything you can tell me will be appreciated.”

  I pulled my reporter pad from the tote. “It won’t take long to go through this. I took three pages of notes on how Selma recorded data.”

  Minnie Lee nodded and asked Jen for a pen.

  After she handed the intern a pen, Jen turned to Ike. “Would you like a walking tour of the research facility while they talk shop?”

  “Sure,” Ike said, surprising me.

  Soon as they left, Minnie Lee shook her wrists as if to get feeling in her fingers. She leaned forward. “I don’t know if I can do this job. Selma was a saint to work directly for the dragon.”

  “The dragon?” I repeated, feeling as if I’d fallen into a fiddler crab hole.

  “Dr. J is a fire-breather. You don’t toe the line exactly, and you’re out. I was trying to get my stipend extended, which I should have done ahead of time, but she made me pack and leave the island. Said I was taking up needed space. My project supervisor is out of the country so I had no one to run interference for me. Dr. J stuck a post doc in my dorm room the next day. Rumor is she’s about to pull the plug on the entire intern program. Even though she gets us cheap, as in free, we don’t meet her professional standards. In her eyes, post docs are the wave of the center’s future.”