A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set

by Adele M Cooper

  She almost chuckled and showed a sarcastic smile. “You are being very diplomatic, Mr. Augustine.”

  “Well, that’s what I do. I’m the diplomatic one. If we bump into a mafia enforcer or crime boss, Manatee handles the conversation. He’s not as diplomatic as I am.”

  She looked over at Manatee, who smiled. “I’m guessing your friend is a tough negotiator.”

  “Yes, Manatee is tough in any number of ways.”

  “But at heart I’m a pussycat,” Manatee said.

  “I believe it, Mr. Manatee.”

  “Could you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Dinera?” Clay said.

  “If you’re into sad stories, sure. I was deceived by Joe. I thought we had an exclusive relationship. He was younger but I foolishly thought he liked me, and I thought we had a wonderful thing going.” She pointed toward the beach. “Two months ago we strolled on the sand, and lay on the beach, and talked about the future, and spoke about the good things we could do together for the environment. We would have great fun joking with one another. I’d tease him and he’d laugh. We would sit out on the porch several times a week, about five, and have a cocktail hour. Just sipping wine and talking. Turned out he was having other such conversations with one or two other ladies. He was cheating on me and . . . I imagine, laughing at me. An older woman with a younger man, but I wasn’t that much older. He fooled me completely.”

  “When did you find out about his cheating?”

  “About three weeks ago. It was the typical scene. I saw him with another woman. He was kissing and hugging her, in public even. I was devastated. I broke off the relationship immediately. I told him for all his sweet words he was just scum. He shrugged and walked off. I never saw him again.”

  “Ever think of shooting him?” Clay said.

  “In the days following the break-up, yes. Thought of it more than once. But I didn’t kill him. He was a little sewer rat who wasn’t worth going to prison for. But I was not broken up when I heard someone else killed him. If they arrest the killer and put him on trial, the prosecutor won’t want me on the jury. I would be tempted to let the defendant off,” she said.

  “Apparently, Mr. Dinera’s public reputation is didn’t match his private behavior,” Manatee said.

  “Isn’t that often the case?” she said. “To answer your next question I will tell you the same thing I told the police. I don’t have an alibi. When Joe was killed I was in this house doing some cleaning. Nobody else was here.”

  “The police questioned you?” Clay said.

  “Yes, they knew we had been an item, and they were curious. My story hasn’t changed from when I talked to them, to now. I hated the guy but I didn’t kill him.” She shook her head. “I will say this for the recently deceased. Everything else about him may have been a lie, but I think he did care about the environment. His views on that matter were sincere. The planning department had been consumed with the Blue Sands proposed beach development for months. He told me he would oppose the project and speak before the county commission. I do think he meant that. He wasn’t out romancing a lady developer. The environmental views were the one thing he wouldn’t cheat on. He was passionate to the point of being fanatic. Which only shows he cared more about politics than he did about people.”

  “Did he mention anything else about the Blue Sands project?”

  “No . . . well only that he thought the company had made a veiled hiring offer to his boss. He said Mr. Rockingham was under a lot of pressure and might be tempted to take a high-paying job for a couple of years to aid his retirement. Dinera thought Rockingham might recommend approval of the project and then accept the job with Blue Sands after it was approved. He just said he suspected that, but he didn’t have any proof. He also spoke often and loudly of his intense dislike for the Blue Sands representatives. Of course he was a no-good liar who talked out of both sides of his mouth, so who knows? The Blue Sands people might be the nicest guys in the world.”

  Clay thanked Ms. Yantzy as he and Manatee left. They walked slowly off the porch and tread through the sand.

  “You remember what the Blue Sands spokesmen told us about checking Dinera’s figures?” Clay said.

  “Yes,” Manatee said. “According to them, Dinera deliberately distorted the data. Their people corrected it and brought it to the attention of the planning department. After double-checking, the figures were revised and were much closer to the Blue Sands projections and estimates.”

  “You think Dinera could have simply made such errors?”

  “I doubt it. He was passionately against the development so he changed the stats. It has been known to happen in private businesses, government and academia. Half the academic studies released nowadays are useless. You know the old saying ‘Figures don’t lie but liars figure.’”

  “Ms. Yantzy was very convinced that Dinera was a liar, among other things. If you would lie to women, would you also lie about your work and about other things as well?”

  “Yes,” Manatee said. “A man who is only honest when there’s no pressure on him is not an honest man at all.”

  “Dinera did have some pressure on him,” Clay said.

  “Which means you didn’t want him counting your change.”

  Clay looked up toward the sky. The wind built into almost a hurricane gust. The gray clouds in the sky began to turn dark.

  “It was sunny not too many minutes ago,” Clay said.

  “Storms can rise quickly in this part of the country, especially if you’re on the edge of the sea,” Manatee said.

  “I was just about to be profound and make a philosophical musing.”

  “Don’t take too long. I often find those boring and pretentious. Instead, want to go to a bar and pick up some women?”

  Clay chuckled. “Nope. I have one woman I’m being romantic with. I don’t want any others. One is fine with me.”

  “OK. No bars. You still want to muse philosophically?”

  Clay reached his car and opened the door. “I was thinking that a short time ago the life of Mr. Dinera looked sunny. He appeared to be a nice guy who was an ardent but honest environmentalist who had the best interest of the public in mind.” He pointed to the sky. “It didn’t take long for the dark clouds—or the dark truth—to make an appearance. He was relatively good-looking, had a nice smile and was no doubt good in his job, but as a human being he fell considerably short.”

  Manatee nodded. “He was playing the field when a lady thought he was true, and he rigged the figures at his office. Both are serious ethical offences.”

  “That leads me to wonder, what if he pursued another unethical path, something we don’t know about, but something so serious it might have led to murder.”

  “Well, I’ll be. Those philosophical musings are worthwhile sometimes after all. I think that’s a very good insight. Now all we have to do is find out what exactly was Dinera’s other moral lapse. He seemed to have any number of them.”

  After dropping Manatee off, Clay phoned April. She answered after the third ring.

  “I just wanted to say you are the sweetest and most wonderful girl in the world and you cook well too.”

  “Thank you, Clay. You are so sweet. Good-looking too.”

  “Want to have a romantic dinner tonight.”

  “My sweet, I do want to have one but I have to say no tonight. I’ve got an idea that may help us in the Dinera case and I need some time to put it together. It’s taking a little longer than I thought.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I changed my theory of the crime to the murderer was one of the customers in Emlet’s the morning of the murder. So I am running out photos of our suspects to show to the salespeople at Emlet’s.”

  “You have to find the ones who were on the floor on Tuesday morning,” Clay said.

  “Yes, that is my second job after this one. The three Rivenbark brothers all have decent photos on the company website. Dinera’s brother, although he may not be rolling
in money, has a Facebook page with a good photo. Ms. Yantzy has her picture on the Outer Banks Environmental Agency website. Being the president of the group, she put her picture on the page. Mr. Lester also has a nice photo when I called up the country club. I’m going to put all the photos together, and ask Emlet’s employees if they remember seeing any of these people.”

  “Will they remember seeing a specific person from a week ago? How could they be sure?” Clay asked.

  “It was a day of a murder. That should stick in their memories.”

  “Well, maybe so.”

  “Anyway I am looking at the photos and thinking if I should get Mike Tinker, one of our advertising guys to give me a quick sketch of each one. One or two of the photos are fuzzy. Mike is a great sketch artist. He said he'd do it for me, and all I have to do is show him a little leg.”

  “What!”

  “Maybe sit in his lap and—”

  “You’d better not! Young lady—“

  April laughed. “I like that rough, manly, masculine response. Ooh, I’m getting goose bumps.”

  “You’re getting a little too mischievous.”

  She leaned back on her chair, kicked off her shoes and extended her bare feet on the desktop. “Yes, it’s a mild character flaw. But it does bring some spice and excitement to the relationship, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, exciting as a roller-coaster. Fast and breathless.”

  “Now you see what a treasure you have in me?”

  “A treasure worth far more than diamonds or rubies.”

  She smacked the phone with her lips. “Ah, that’s sweet and romantic. Must go. I’m busy tonight but I will see you tomorrow,” she chuckled, almost breaking into laughter. “That was fun.”

  Detective work thought April, as she toiled at her desk, is a great deal like reporting. Both involved massive amounts of legwork—and nowadays—massive amounts of computer work, or sketch work, she thought smiling. She held up two sketches of suspects given to her by Mike Tinker. She had jokingly told him of some of the verbal byplay with Clay.

  “April, don’t get your boyfriend angry at me. The guy is big and appears to be in excellent condition. He could pound me into the ground. So whenever you talk to him again mention that Mike is a really nice guy and a gentleman,” Tinker said. “I’m also middle-aged, weigh twenty pounds too much and am out of shape.”

  April chuckled. “Don’t worry. Clay is not going to hit you. He knows I was joking. He is a gentleman.”

  “Well, but being a gentleman only means he will tell me he’s going to sock me before his fists rearrange my face,” Tinker said, but he chuckled as he said it.

  “I will make sure Clay knows you’re a real nice guy. And you are,” she said, holding up the sketches.

  As she looked at the pictures at her desk she thought Tinker did have artistic talent. She stared at the three Rivenbark brothers. She had downloaded their pictures from the Rivenbark Company website. But, Tinker had sketched much better portraits than the website pictures. Eyes, nose, lips, lines around the eyes, and on their cheeks were precisely drawn. If any Emlet’s employees had seen the three, he or she could easily identify them.

  She put the sketches of the Rivenbark brothers down and picked up the sketch of Andrew Lester. It was as good as the other three. When she first saw it she immediately recognized Lester although she had only seen him once and had probably talked for less than ten minutes with him. Tinker had achieved something remarkable with the sketches. She had liked Lester when she talked with him. He had a solidness and an amiability along with confidence, but not arrogance in his manner. In the black-and-white sketch someone reflected those traits. It was not only black lines on white paper. It gave a hint—more than a hint—of Lester’s personality.

  Holding the portrait up April didn’t think she was looking at a murderer. But she told herself that was not a realistic assessment. Humans could be fooled. She had been mistaken in her first assessment of Joe. Just because a good sketch artist had drawn an excellent portrait of a country club golf pro, the sketch was not proof of innocence or guilt.

  That was the problem, April thought. So few people actually looked like murderers. Even murderers often appear to be normal citizens. They don’t walk around wearing signs.

  “Which makes detective work more difficult,” she said aloud.

  Tinker smiled as he walked to her desk with two more sketches and handed them to her. Blue Sands officials Adam Lundmark and J. B. Winslow stared back at her. In Winslow’s case he looked at her behind black-rimmed glasses. She nodded with approval. These two pictures were as good as the sketches of the Rivenbark brothers.

  At first glance Winslow didn’t look like a murderer either. He looked tough and intelligent, a no-nonsense type of guy, which perhaps a corporate official has to be. His nose was a bit too large. His lips were firm, and almost in a grimace. A tough man but not a dangerous one, April thought.

  Lundmark was younger and appeared considerably more youthful in his portrait. He wore a big smile, but the black lines indicated an apprehension beneath the smile. A viewer would sense the intelligence in Lundmark but not the toughness of Winslow’s.

  She couldn’t see Lundmark with a blunt object in his hand. But that was subjective judgment, she told herself, not a view based on empirical fact.

  “Darn those facts,” she said aloud. “They are so inconvenient.”

  12

  The Community Development Director for the county was August Pembleton. Clay thought the name rang of British aristocracy. He expected a middle-aged gentleman who was dressed well and wore a bowler hat. But the CD Director was a young man of blond, neatly trimmed hair and a bright smile, who wore a bright-yellow golf shirt, and tan slacks. When Clay and Manatee entered, Pembleton stood next to a multicolored map of the county with red, and blue pins inserted into the paper. He seemed focused on the map but said a warm hello to his visitors.

  “Mr. Pembleton, I’m Clay Augustine and this is my friend Manatee. I’m a private detective and we’re investigating the murder of Joe.”

  Pembleton took the news without batting an eye. There were no other facial movements either. “I knew Joe and hope you solve the case but I don’t see how I can help you. I didn’t kill Joe and I didn’t associate with him outside the office.”

  “I’ve found that investigations; sometimes even the smallest items can be important. So I wanted to ask how Mr. Dinera was to work with? Any problems in the office?”

  “No, not with me. My department is within the planning office, but Joe and I did entirely different types of work. He’s in basic planning but I’m trying to snare new businesses for the county. With the exception of large developments such as the Blue Sands proposal this office didn’t have too much contact with Joe, or other members of the planning staff.”

  “You were supporting the Blue Sands development?”

  “Absolutely. A condo is not classified as a new business per se, but it would bring money into the county. A hotel is a clean business that won’t destroy any of the county’s agricultural land.”

  “Did that put you in conflict with Dinera?” Clay asked.

  “Yes and no. He knew I supported it. My job is to bring in new businesses. I knew Joe didn’t like the project, but we never argued. We each knew where the other stood.”

  “How about the other staff? Did they like Dinera?”

  “I think most of the time he was easy to get along with. Once in a while he had a burst of temper, but it wasn’t often. There were some grumblings about him and Patti Atwater, but nothing serious.”

  “Grumblings?”

  “Patti is a young, blond staffer in the department. She and Joe were friends, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I do,” Clay said. “Such . . . friendships can bring some strains into the workplace. Did that happen?”

  “Not to a significant degree. Joe was basically the second-in-command in the department. Occasionally he gave Patti an extra break or an easy p
roject but nothing more. I think most of the other employees in the department simply shrugged it off. I think Joe and Patti did their best to maintain a professional atmosphere at work.”

  “Was it love at first sight?”

  Pembleton shook his head. “I don’t know if it was . . . probably not. I think Patti had worked here a while before starting the extracurricular activities with Joe. They both shared very strong environmental views. Maybe that’s what brought them together. Joe had to tone down his rhetoric a bit in the office. But outside these doors he, and Patti for that matter, were avid and ardent in their environmental beliefs. They were very passionate about that.”

  “Perhaps too passionate,” Manatee said. “Didn’t Dinera’s analysis of the Blue Sands project have to be revised and modified because of his errors? Maybe his politics affected his work.”

  “To be honest, they did. I had nothing against Joe personally, but I felt his thumb was on the scale due to politics.” He paused for a moment and frowned. “Frankly, about two weeks ago I had a conference with Ed Rockingham, the planning director, about it. I told him I had noticed . . . problems with Joe’s work in the past but they were minor. Now I felt Joe was letting his politics infect everything he did. I told Ed I would not trust any study or analysis made by the assistant county planner. I didn’t like going to Ed, but I felt as if I had no choice. Before that I had privately told Joe his work was being corrupted. He shrugged me off.”

  “What did Rockingham say?”

  “He told me he was aware of the problem but hoped it would be self-correcting. He said he had admonished Joe twice about this very problem. But instead of doing better, Joe was getting worse. He said he was thinking of removing Joe from any work in the Blue Sands project, among others.”

  “Did you know Joe was going to speak to the county commission and oppose the project?” Clay said.

  “No, no I didn’t.”

  “If he was removed from the project due to bias, his testimony would have carried much less weight,” Manatee said.