Coastal Corpse Read online

  I guess the whole island knew about the frying-pan incident. “Did you know that Bucky was engaged to Destiny Ransford?” I asked, helping myself to the refreshed glass of iced coffee. “I interviewed her a little while ago, and she said that they intended to get married next year.” Like my plans with Cole—if I ever found the diamond ring again.

  Travis didn’t blink. “I was aware that they had a relationship, but I didn’t know they intended to get married.”

  “Were you in love with Destiny?”

  “Ms. Monroe, I’m on the Shoreline Bank Board of Directors. Our relationship is purely professional.” Travis’s eyes narrowed as he rose to his feet. “I’ve been quite patient with your probing, but this interview is over. I told you everything I know: Bucky was my partner, and, if there was foul play involved in his death, the police need to arrest Wanda Sue. That’s all I have to say.”

  I flipped my notepad shut, knowing that I wouldn’t get anything else today. “Thanks for your time, and please call me if you have any more information.” I set my card on the silver tray. As I started for the door, one of the aging workers flung it open. “Fuego! Fuego!”

  Even I knew what that meant: Fire.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Damn. They’re at it again!” Travis proclaimed in a loud voice as he dashed out the front door, the workman following him with a little bounce to his hobbling gait. If I didn’t know better (and I didn’t), I’d swear I spied a little wink from the geriatric employee.

  “I won’t stand for this anymore! I’ve had it,” Travis’s voice took on a tinge of righteous indignation as it faded in the distance.

  Joe Earl then appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, retrieving my coat.

  “You’ll see.”

  I looked around for a telltale sign of smoke and noticed a man heading to the parking lot. His back was to us, but I thought I detected a familiar silver ponytail and doo-rag. Coop? What was he doing here?

  I shouted his name and started off in that direction.

  “No, not that way.” Joe Earl caught my arm. “Let’s go out the back door.”

  “But I think I saw—”

  “Just trust me.” Joe Earl hustled me toward the back door.

  “It says emergency exit,” I protested as he kept propelling me. He pushed open the door and we tumbled outside into the warm air that smelled . . . sooty. “Jeez, is there a brushfire? We’d better call the fire department.” I reached for my cell phone.

  “No, it’s not a brush fire. That one old codger likes to burn garbage in the trash can, and it ignited into a full-fledged bonfire. I got the feeling they burn trash just to irritate Travis. But I thought I’d use the diversion, so I could show you what’s going on. Follow me.” He took off toward one of the large, covered frame structures.

  I started running after him, my bag swinging behind me. “What? Where are we going? Joe Earl, stop!”

  He kept jogging, so I had no choice but to follow in pursuit—sort of. My fast-food, long-hours-at-the-newspaper lifestyle didn’t exactly lend itself to sprinting without blowing out a lung. So, I managed a short trot, then loped like a lame horse to try and keep up with him. But I kept falling farther behind, my breath coming in jagged gasps, and my heart pounding.

  “Wait up!” I cried out, not sure if I might need a 9-1-1 call myself if I kept this pace up (which had slowed down to a skip). I really needed to get back into Tae Kwon Do class.

  “Almost there!” Joe Earl waved me on.

  Lungs ready to burst, I scuttled the last few yards until we entered the tent. Leaning on a wooden post, I bent over, wheezing to catch my breath. “This had better be good. I almost collapsed back there.” Chest heaving, I straightened slowly.

  “Oh, it’s worth it.” He strode down the aisle between the large tilapia tanks, one of them with red fish on the right and the other with white fish on the left.

  Then, I caught a whiff of decaying carcasses. Pungent didn’t even begin to describe the aquatic version of roadkill. “What the hell is that stench?”

  Joe Earl grabbed a net and skimmed the water, catching a few slow-moving tilapia. “From what I read on the Internet about the fish-farming process, there appears to be something wrong with the filtration system in all of the tanks. It’s killing the fish. If they don’t have clean water, they get lethargic and die.”

  I leaned over the tank and took a short breath, then immediately turned my head away with a gasp. “They smell like they’re one fin away from that big tilapia tank in the sky.”

  He turned the net over, spilling the fish back into the tank. They didn’t swim off but, rather, floated for a few seconds then drifted away with a tiny movement of their tails.

  “You don’t think he’s selling these fish, do you?” I stepped back from the tank.

  “Dunno. But it’s a given that nobody has been attending these tanks for a few weeks.” Joe Earl replaced the fish net in the corner. “Those two oldies, Jose and Pepe, told me they’re the only two workers left out of the twelve guys that used to monitor the tanks.”

  “Travis fired all of his crew?”

  “Looks like it. Travis told Jose and Pepe he was going to rehire someone to help out, but they didn’t believe him.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless the dude is having cash-flow problems, none of this neglect makes any sense,” Joe Earl pointed out. “That would be the only reason to cut his workmen to a skeleton crew and allow the fish tanks to turn into these cesspools.”

  “Poor fish,” I murmured, taking another glance at the barely-moving tilapia. “We definitely need a financial report on Travis’s business.”

  “As soon as I can—”

  “Ms. Monroe!” Travis was shouting from somewhere outside.

  My eyes met Joe Earl’s with some alarm. “We can’t let him find us in here,” I whispered, gesturing at the back of the large tent.

  We hurried out, circled around the canvas structure, and met Travis out front. He was moving fast to intercept us.

  “Oh, sorry, we got lost—” I began in a suitably apologetic tone.

  “Were you in that tent?” Streaks of soot crisscrossed his face and shirt.

  “We didn’t have the chance.” I shrugged. “What happened with the fire? Is it a big blaze? Are we in any danger?”

  “No and no. Some of my idiotic workers lit up paper inside a trash can,” Travis said in a short, clipped voice, wiping his face with a white handkerchief. “It’s contained now.”

  “Thank goodness. The last thing you need is a brushfire around here now that the rainy season is over.” I grabbed Joe Earl’s arm. “Well, we’ve got to get going. Thanks again for the interview.”

  Travis didn’t move, blocking our path to my truck. “My workmen told me this young fella asked a lot of questions and was nosing around my property.” He leveled a severe glance at Joe Earl. “Is that true?”

  “Define ‘nosing,’ ” Joe Earl challenged.

  Travis wiped his forehead with an impatient swipe. “I think it’s best if the two of you hit the road and don’t come back.”

  “You did give us permission to look around,” I reminded him.

  “That’s the only reason I’m not calling the police to have you both arrested.”

  Joe Earl straightened, standing eye level with Travis. “Hey, man, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. If you’ve got nothing to hide, you shouldn’t mind people checking out your operation.”

  Travis’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you.”

  “I can assure you that Joe Earl wasn’t snooping.” I edged around Travis, trying to tug Joe Earl behind me. The last thing I needed was a replay of a Travis/Bucky fight, with Joe Earl as the new and improved Bucky. I didn’t want any trouble, and I especially didn’t want to jeopardize the status of my assistant who could make coffee, do research on his iPhone in a flash, and talk to a haunted violin (maybe I could do without the last item). “Come on, Joe Ea
rl.”

  He remained rooted in place.

  After a few moments, he gave in and let me lead him toward Rusty. “What’s wrong with you?” I muttered under my breath.

  “That dude was staring me down. I couldn’t let him get the upper hand.”

  “Spare me the macho head games,” I cut in swiftly. “If Travis was involved in Bucky’s death, the last thing we want to do is tick him off. I don’t want to end my days belly up in a fish tank.” Certainly not before my wedding.

  Joe Earl flexed his nonexistent muscles. “I could take him on any day of the week.”

  “Oh, pleeeeease.” I glanced over my shoulder and spied Travis still watching us. Suddenly nervous, I slid into Rusty, then leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in. Now.”

  Joe Earl complied, taking his time to slide into the truck. As soon as Mr. Machismo settled into his seat, I cranked up the engine and revved out of the parking lot, causing Rusty to thump violently on the unpaved road. “I want to put as much distance between Travis and us as possible.”

  “He bullies those two old workmen, and I don’t believe for one minute that they ratted me out. They hate Travis and think he’s going to fire them any day.”

  “Take it easy.”

  “I hate bullies.” He clutched the armrest as Rusty lurched down the road. “They can make your life a living hell, and I should know. As a computer nerd without a dad, I was fair game for every jerkface high-school guy going.”

  Glancing at him briefly, I saw his knuckles had turned almost white. “Where was your father?”

  “Just took off years ago.” Joe Earl shrugged. “I was going to ask the Abe Lincoln violin, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.”

  “I agree.” My truck hit a large pothole and shuddered like the Titanic when it hit the iceberg. I let up on the gas pedal. “All the more reason to find out what’s going on at that tilapia farm, if only to stop Travis’s exploitation of his workers.” I held the steering wheel tightly as we drove in silence for a few minutes. Obviously, there was more to Joe Earl than met the eye. “I didn’t get much out of Travis, except that Bucky was supposedly embezzling money from him. Not sure I believe that. And I couldn’t quite pinpoint what his connection is with Destiny, aside from the fact he’s on the board of her bank.” My battered truck lurched and chugged over the potholes until we emerged onto Cypress Road. Once we hit paved road again, I exhaled in relief and relaxed my death grip on the steering wheel. “Tell me more about the fish tanks.”

  “They’re definitely being neglected and, from what I read online, it’s not that difficult to keep the water fresh.” Joe Earl relaxed again and propped his arm against the passenger door. “While I check into his finances, we need someone to nose around the tilapia farm—a person whom Travis wouldn’t suspect of being a spy. Like an undercover mole.”

  I nodded. “The problem is, Travis struck me as a pretty suspicious kind of guy. We’d have to find an expert snoop, trained in the art of deception.”

  “All of his workmen look like they’re over seventy, at least,” Joe Earl interjected. “I don’t think they’re going to be much help.”

  I stared at the road before me, an idea slowly taking form as I headed back to the Observer office. “That’s not going to be a problem.”

  It was mad.

  It was crazy.

  And it just might work.

  An hour later, we sat at Anita’s conference table behind the taped window, formulating a plan with our geriatric Snoop Dog Extraordinaire: Pop Pop Welch. Okay, call me wacko, but that old man had some untapped depth underneath the wrinkles and free-floating dentures. Besides, he was the only person over seventy that I knew who might be game enough to give fish espionage a try.

  “Now, Pop Pop, all you have to do is show up at Tropical Tilapia and ask Travis if he’s looking for any workers.”

  “Should I wear a disguise?” Pop Pop stroked his thinning hair and adjusted his thick bifocals. “I could shave off about ten years with a toupee and contacts.”

  I blinked, trying not to summon an image of Pop Pop with a hair rug. Best not to go there.

  “You just need to look like yourself,” I assured him. “Travis likes . . . uh . . . mature workmen.”

  “Go ahead and say it, missy. He likes to hire oldies like me. People think ’cause I’m on Medicare that I don’t know the score. These guys like Travis always think they can pay us seniors low wages and work us to death. But I wasn’t born yesterday.” He thumped his chest, then took a whiff of oxygen. “No sirreee.”

  “I promise that the Observer will reimburse you appropriately for your time,” I explained, making an executive decision in Anita’s absence and praying she would follow through.

  “Deal.” Pop Pop spat in his hand and held it out.

  Waving aside the “spittle shake,” I continued, “We need to know why the tilapia are dying. So poke around the fish tanks and see what’s going on. Keep your eyes open to anything that seems a little unusual or out of the ordinary. I’ll give you more information down the road, but first, we need to know what’s going on here.”

  Pop Pop nodded knowingly. “An expose on a fish killer?”

  “Sort of.” I cleared my throat. “Suffice it to say, I need some firsthand, reliable information on the ground from a source that I can trust—you. I’m counting on you, Pop Pop. You know how important it is for us to shine a light in the darkness. That’s how Anita puts it. Journalists have to be fearless.” My motor mouth had kicked in big-time with excitement.

  My Senior Reporter status was going to my head.

  “Count me in.” Pop Pop gave a thumbs-up, then started coughing until he took another whiff of oxygen.

  Uh-oh.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I murmured to Joe Earl as I slapped Pop Pop on the back. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

  “I can take care of myself, missy,” Pop Pop chimed in as he got control of his wheezing. “Especially now I’ve got my new hearing aids. I’ll hear everything that’s going on at that fish farm, trust me.” He tapped his ears with a grin. “Nothing will get past these top-of-the-line Bellsound Bolds.”

  “Are they new?” I tried to peer at his ears.

  “No, they’re not blue,” he scoffed.

  Doubts flooded through me with the rushing force of a train. Maybe I’d gotten too carried away. “You’ve got your cell phone don’t you, Pop Pop?”

  “Right here.” He held up a slide-style model. “I’ve got you on speed dial from our dating days.”

  “We were not dating,” I retorted Joe Earl kicked me under the table.

  “Okay, we went out a few times, but it was strictly newspaper business,” I corrected myself.

  Joe Earl kicked me again.

  “All right, we’re good friends.”

  My Geritol-set handyman broke into a wide smile.

  “Pop Pop, if anything seems off, or if you feel the slightest sense of danger at the tilapia farm, I want you to get out of there pronto,” I said, still worried about him. “Call in every two hours, so I know you’re okay.”

  “See?” Pop Pop transferred his gaze in Joe Earl’s direction with a click of his tongue. “She can’t stand to have me out of her sight even for a short time.”

  “That’s not exactly true.” Still, I couldn’t resist giving him a hug. What can I say? The never-give-in gumption at his age was inspiring.

  “I’m ready to roll.” Pop Pop wheeled back his oxygen tank and it hit the already-cracked window. The glass gave way and shattered all over the floor.

  Not a good sign.

  An hour later, the repairman had returned, removed Anita’s cubicle window, and installed a temporary privacy barrier, which consisted of a piece of cardboard taped to the cubicle wall. After raiding the petty-cash jar for a tip, I ushered him out of the office.

  Joe Earl tapped the cardboard. “I like it better than the glass.”

  “At least when Anita gets back, we
won’t have to see her sitting there.”

  “Sounds like a plus.” He heaved his backpack over his shoulder.

  Major plus, indeed. “But I hope breaking a window doesn’t bring seven years of bad luck like it does with a mirror.” I found a stray bit of glass as we strolled toward the front door.

  Joe Earl kicked a few additional shards out of his way. “You need to bury a couple of pieces of the glass during the full moon. I heard it wipes out any bad luck.”

  “I’d rather hang garlic around my neck.”

  “Suit yourself.” He gave me a little salute and headed out.

  I paused, then pocketed a small piece of glass for a beach burial at the Twin Palms. It couldn’t hurt.

  On the way back to my desk, my cell phone began to ring. I checked the name and squealed, “Sandy!”

  “Hi, Mallie,” her cheery voice greeted me. “How’s it going?”

  I took in a deep breath. “So-so in terms of getting the edition out, but I’ve got Joe Earl working here as my assistant.”

  “On payroll?”

  “Maybe.”

  Sandy started chuckling. “I can hardly wait to hear what Anita thinks about that one.” A jumble of voices in the background started up. “Jimmy and I are sightseeing at the Fountain of Youth Archeological Park. It’s supposed to be the spot where Ponce de Leon found a spring with the secret of eternal youth.”

  “Did you take a drink of the magic water?” I could use a swig from the fountain myself right now.

  “Not exactly.” She lowered her tone to a whisper. “The spring is more like a trickle over some dirty rocks. I didn’t want to go near it.” She said something else, but I couldn’t make it out because of the background noise growing louder. “Sorry, Mallie, but there’s a crowd gathering for the cannon demo.”

  “My favorite part,” Jimmy exclaimed into the phone. “We saw it yesterday and came back for more.”

  “Then I’d better get in everything that’s been going on here fast.” I took a deep breath and cranked up the Mallie Motor Mouth for a marathon race, covering everything from the town-council meeting to Wanda Sue firing a flare gun, to Bucky McGuire’s death in less than a three-minute verbal mile.