Coastal Corpse Read online

  Flashing a warning glance at her, I eased my foot up on the gas. “Shut up and stay still while I bring Rusty to a stop,” I said out of the side of my mouth in a low, even tone. “That rattle we’ve been hearing is a diamondback rattlesnake on the backseat. Don’t turn around, for God’s sake.” I took another brief peep in the rearview mirror. “He looks ready to strike.”

  Bernice froze, her hand remaining at her ear. “Are you sure it’s a rattlesnake?” she murmured.

  “Oh, yeah.” I noted the snake’s tail with its brown stripes ending in a button-like nub that flicked back and forth like a whip.

  The rattling sound grew louder.

  Sweat broke out on the back of my neck at the realization that one quick strike of the snake could be the end for me. I was going to die. I knew it. And, even worse, the last person I’d see alive was Bernice.

  My truck gradually slowed to a stop, right in the middle of Cypress Road. Keeping my foot on the brake, I didn’t dare turn the wheel to steer off to the side onto the gravel; any big, sudden movement could cause the snake to attack. Luckily, there wasn’t any traffic—yet.

  We both sat there, engine idling, not speaking or moving. Finally, Bernice spoke up in a hoarse whisper, “What’s the plan? I’ve got an itch under my cast.”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Once again, my eyes shifted to the rearview mirror. Mr. Snake remained in the same position, but had reverted to staring at me alone through his narrow lizard eyes. Eek. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest that I was sure Mr. Snake could sense it. “Once he goes to sleep, we can ease open the doors and get out. We just need to stay calm and not move too quickly.”

  “How are we going to know he’s asleep?”

  “I guess when he puts his head down.”

  Just then, I heard a loud honking horn and shifted my glance to the road behind us: a monster truck with a pickup body and large wheels was bearing down at high speed, aimed right at us. Another honk alerted me and my glance shifted forward to spy a compact car speeding toward us.

  “Bernice, do you see what I see?”

  “Sure do. If the snake doesn’t kill us, the truck-car sandwich will.”

  “Is your door unlocked?”

  A few seconds passed. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I took in a deep breath. “On my mark, we’re going to have to throw open the doors. Then, jump and roll. I can’t chance hitting the gas pedal.”

  “What about Rusty?”

  I gave the wheel a miniscule pat. “He would understand. It’s us or the snake.”

  The truck’s horn came in a loud, long blast, causing the snake to jerk his head away from us.

  “Now! Do it!”

  Simultaneously, we jerked on our door handles, lurched out of the truck and rolled away from my vehicle. I hit hard against the cold asphalt, then spun over and over, praying that neither of the vehicles would flatten me into roadkill. I heard Bernice scream and curse with a new string of profanities like I’d never heard before, even from her. She must’ve hit the road hard with her cast.

  I rolled onto the loose pebbles and dirt just at the moment the compact car that had been coming at us whizzed past with a blast of wind. But I kept rolling and didn’t stop until I slammed into a thick palm tree trunk.

  Raising my head, I caught a glimpse of the black and gold monster truck as it swerved around Rusty. The driver didn’t even spare us a glance. I leapt to my feet, adrenaline pumping, and shook my fist at him, adding a few choice curses of my own.

  “I broke my damn cast! Hell and damnation!” Bernice exclaimed from the other side of the road. She lay on her back and, after a couple of failed attempts, hoisted herself up into a sitting position. She held up her arm, pointing at the cast, which was cracked in two, connected only by a plaster thread.

  “Are you okay?” I steadied myself against the palm tree, trying to catch my breath. Remarkably, Rusty remained idling on the road.

  “No, I’m not! Dammit, I think I broke my wrist on the other arm now!”

  “Impossible.”

  “Au contraire.” Bernice held up the opposite arm, and I could see that her hand hung at a crooked angle.

  The compact car had halted a little farther down the road, and a young, female driver sprang out, sprinting towards us, her cell phone in hand. “I’m sorry that I didn’t stop, but I could see that maniac in the truck wasn’t slowing down. In fact, I think he went faster. I thought he was going to hit you.”

  “Me, too.” My breathing still ragged, I brushed off my jeans with a shaky hand, noting that I had a couple of scratches on my forearm from the gravel.

  “Do you want me to call 9-1-1?” she asked, pushing back her long, brown hair with a shaky hand.

  “Bernice? Do you need an ambulance?” I queried in a loud voice.

  “No. Just a ride to the ER, you dummy.”

  Momentarily tempted to leave Bernice on the side of the road, I gave myself a three-second fantasy of driving off alone, and then handed the young woman my card. “Could you write down your name and number? I want to report this incident to the island police.”

  “Sure thing.” She complied and handed back my card. “I even snapped a picture of the truck with my phone.”

  “Can you pull it up?”

  She tapped on the camera icon, then frowned in exasperation. “I can’t make out the license plate.” She held it up, and I squinted to make out anything but a blurry truck bumper.

  Damn.

  “Sorry.”

  We tried enlarging the photo, but that only made the license plate even more grainy.

  “Hel-lo? Could we hold off on the selfies?” Bernice called out. “I’m in pain over here.”

  After having her message me the picture, I waved off our Good Samaritan. “Did you see the snake slip out of Rusty?” I asked Bernice, tiptoeing across Cypress Road, watchful for traffic. And the rattler.

  She nodded. “He slithered into the saw palmetto stand right after the monster truck went by.” Bernice tried to flex her wrist and winced in pain. “Did you recognize that jerkface in the truck?”

  “Nope. The driver had on a baseball cap, so I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. It might’ve looked from behind like we were just casually stopped in the middle of the road, but the driver should’ve at least slowed down.” I helped Bernice to her feet and, as I guided her back towards Rusty, I added, “That young woman who stopped said it looked like the truck actually sped up, like he was aiming for us . . .” my voice trailed off as I peered through the window into the back seat from a discreet distance, just to make certain Bernice was right about the reptile’s exit.

  No snake.

  Whew.

  I took in a deep, calming breath. “All clear.”

  “Told you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a double check. I don’t want to see another snake that close up, ever.” After settling Bernice into the passenger seat, I took my place behind the wheel and texted Joe Earl to let him know what had happened.

  “What did you mean just now?” She cradled both the broken arm and possibly broken wrist.

  “First, we find a rattlesnake in the backseat, but my windows were closed, so someone must’ve put it there last night. Then, a truck comes barreling down the road, almost like it was targeting us where we were stopped.” I eased Rusty forward, my hands clenching the wheel. “Doesn’t that seem like an unusual coincidence?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah.” She winced in pain again. “Let’s talk about your half-baked theories, Miss Priss, after we go to the hospital.”

  “Hey, if you want a ride to the ER, try being a little nicer to me. I’m all you’ve got right now with Anita still out of town.”

  “Oh, bite me.” She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  “Bad word choice, after the snake incident.”

  “Fine. Bug off.”

  I wondered if I could break her leg to go along with the other injured appendages as I stepp
ed on the gas.

  An hour later, I rushed into the Observer office and made a beeline for Anita’s office, not looking right or left.

  After spending an interminable hour getting Bernice checked into the ER, I had to leave her there, knowing I had precious little time to get back to the newspaper to e-mail the final copy edits to the printer. Talk about a tight deadline.

  “How’s Bernice?” Joe Earl inquired as I streaked past him.

  “Fine.” I didn’t break my pace but, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of him seated at my desk with Madame Geri hovering nearby. “Can’t talk now. I’ve got to—”

  “Get the edition out?” A familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. Was it possible? Smiling, I turned to see Sandy, at her desk.

  I gave her a quick hug, noting her glowing face and happy grin. “Obviously, marriage agrees with you.”

  “You could say that. Our honeymoon in St. Augustine was just magical, and Jimmy is the best husband ever.” Her smile upped to a megawatt beam of happiness. “Life is good.”

  I grinned back, but it felt halfhearted after the events of the last twenty-four hours. My own engagement had officially tanked, and I didn’t even have the ring as a memento. Not to mention, I’d had a near-death experience this morning before my first Krispy Kreme or second round of coffee. “Can’t talk now. I’ve got to finish up those copy edits.”

  “Already done,” Sandy sang out. “When Joe Earl told me that you’d probably be late, I pulled it up on Anita’s computer and proofread the mockup. All you need to do is add the headline and send it off. The repair guy also showed up this morning.” She gestured toward the new, gleaming glass around my boss’s cubicle. No tape. No cardboard. “By the way, we added Madame Geri’s violin story to the lower half of the front page, stressing its history.”

  Joe Earl gave a thumbs-up; Madame Geri gave a thumbs-down.

  “You’re the best, Sandy.” I could already feel the pressure easing.

  “One last item: I found this in the lower file drawer of your desk; it was in a folder.” She held up my engagement ring, the stones glinting with a pure, white light.

  “OMG.” My mouth dropped open. “I’d put in the top drawer, and it must’ve fallen down. I didn’t think to look there. Duh.” I clasped the ring tightly in my palm. I had a memento of my time with Cole after all.

  A tiny glow lit inside of me.

  “If you’d asked me, I could’ve found it. Or at least posed a question to the Abe Lincoln violin. Speaking of which, I’m done with journalism.” Madame Geri cleared her throat and threw the Dummy’s Guide in the trash can. “I’m not pleased that my article is below the fold, and neither is Old Abe.”

  “My apologies to you and the president, but I think I’ll go with Sandy’s office skills over your quasi-intuitive mumbo jumbo.” I couldn’t hide the triumph—or sarcasm—in my voice. “Where’s Marley?”

  “Home, I think,” Madame Geri said. “I’m not sure, since I lost his pet pager.”

  “Maybe you should ask the violin his whereabouts,” I couldn’t resist adding, happy as a lark that the beady-eyed parrot wasn’t in the office. She glared at me.

  Refusing to let her rain on my almost-have-the-edition-out parade, I strolled into Anita’s office, took her seat, and added a headline to the Observer front page: “Town-Council Candidate Found Dead.” Sitting there with my index finger poised over the “enter” key for a few seconds, self-satisfaction flooded through my being.

  I hit the button.

  Now I’m an editor.

  Savoring the moment, I sat back in Anita’s chair, my hands folded behind my head. I did it. The only thing left to do was find a way to prove Wanda Sue’s innocence and bring her home. Rock on.

  A tap on the newly-installed glass window broke into my elated reverie.

  “Can I talk with you?” Coop mouthed the words against the glass. I motioned him in.

  Weaving around the messy stacks of old newspapers and general clutter, he took a seat across from me. “I found something that triggered a memory about Bucky.”

  “Do tell.” Eagerly I propped my elbows on the desk, leaning forward.

  “I went through all of my shirts and couldn’t find anything of interest. But then I checked all of my work jeans’ pockets, and saw this.” He produced a small yellow Post-it note and set it on the desk.

  Quickly I scanned it.

  Take fertilizer to Liz Ellis’s nursery.

  I looked up, puzzled.

  “Turn it over.”

  On the other side of the Post-it, the words bad stuff had been scrawled.

  Coop tapped the note with his finger. “Bucky had me using this new fertilizer on Liz Ellis’s nursery and, after a couple of weeks, I noticed it seemed to be killing the plants.”

  “You’re the plant killer!” I exclaimed before I could stop myself.

  “No!” He held up both palms in protest. “I swear I told Bucky that something was wrong with that fertilizer. I wrote the note to myself to remember to tell him that it was bad stuff. It’s the truth.”

  “I believe you.” Patting his hand, I tried to reassure him. “Sorry, that just slipped out. You’re no plant killer. I know that.”

  He slumped back into the chair with an audible exhale of relief.

  “When did you tell Bucky?”

  “I don’t remember that part.” Coop sighed.

  “Or what he did about it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s frustrating not having a good memory.”

  “I can only imagine.” Looking at the Post-it again, I tried to figure out how the note might tie into Bucky’s death, but I was having a hard time focusing after my near-death experiences this morning.

  “Wish I could help more,” Coop said.

  “You did a lot. Thanks.” Pushing myself to a standing position, I moved toward the doorway and stuck my head out. “Joe Earl, do you still have Liz Ellis’s address? I want to talk with her.”

  “Sure do.” He rose, snatching up his iPhone. “But I’m going with you, especially after that run-in with her outside the Shoreline Bank. She’s a nasty piece of work.”

  “Agreed, on both counts.” Liz’s obnoxious personality aside, after that snake thing, I didn’t particularly want to be driving alone. Whoever killed Bucky might have me next on his (or her) list.

  “You know Liz Ellis?” Sandy piped up.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “She’s a b-atch.” Sandy’s glow dimmed as her mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “When Bernice was in charge, Liz wanted to buy advertising for her nursery and . . . well, let’s just say, after talking with Liz on the phone, Bernice wouldn’t give her so much as a one-line ad.”

  “Up front and in person is even worse,” I quipped. Then I jotted down Pop Pop’s cell-phone number, still worried that he might be getting himself into trouble with that union organizing. “Sandy, would you call Pop Pop and just check in? He’s . . . uh . . . getting some info at Tropical Tilapia, and I want to make sure he’s okay. And check that he’s taking his medication, too.”

  “No problemo.” She grabbed the number from me and picked up the phone.

  “Watch that Ellis woman,” Coop warned. “She threw a rake at me once when I did something wrong at her nursery.”

  “You remembered that?”

  He held up another Post-it that said, Liz Ellis attacked me with a rake. “I found this one in the same pocket.”

  Yikes.

  “I agree. Be careful.” Madame Geri warned as I trooped past her and motioned for Joe Earl to follow. “The spirit world told me she had a bad aura with all shades of brown. Not good.”

  A twinge of caution tugged at me, but I tried to shrug it off as just the ravings of a pseudo-psychic. Still . . . Madame Geri managed to be right more times than not. “Maybe you ought to keep your cell phone handy, just to play it safe. We’ll call if there’s a problem.” We exited the office, and I noticed the sky had clouded up after a clear morning.
r />   “Did you get a financial statement on Travis’s company?” I queried as we headed toward my truck.

  “Just this morning. The annual report that went out to his shareholders looked strong. Everything in the black. He was even adding assets by buying island businesses that had gone bankrupt.”

  “Really? That wouldn’t jibe with my theory of why he might be killing his tilapia.” Another dead end.

  “That surprised me, too. But the spreadsheets don’t lie.”

  “You can read an Excel spreadsheet?” I couldn’t balance my checkbook.

  “High-school accounting. It really came in handy when I was running my eBay sales.”

  “So, we’re back to the question of why Travis would sabotage a thriving business,” I said, half to myself. We were close. I could feel it.

  “Dunno.” Joe Earl gave me Liz’s address, and I drove toward Paradisio, the small fishing village that separated Coral Island from the mainland. Rows of tiny, vividly colored dwellings lined the main road, some renovated with a fresh coat of paint and some unchanged from the fifties with sagging exteriors and ramshackle porches. A mixed bag of old and new.

  “Could Travis have cooked the books?”

  “Unlikely. The info they post online is reviewed by state auditors.”

  “You learned that, too, in the accounting class?”

  “Yep.” He glanced down at his iPhone, then pointed at a large tree with purple flowers. “MapQuest says take the next left, right there next to the royal palm tree.”

  As I glanced at the sagging, brown palm fronds, a sudden thought occurred to me. “Maybe the deadly fertilizer is what made Liz post those vicious comments about Bucky on his blog.”

  “She sure did a number on him.”

  “Didn’t she call him a crudball?”

  “Cretin.”

  “Let’s see if we can get her to explain why she made the posts. You never know. With her temper, she might let something slip.” I made the turn at the “dead end” sign on Baypoint and steered Rusty down a narrow street where the houses grew larger and more ornate the closer we came to Paradisio Bay.