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Chapter One
During my forty-plus years of life on the planet Earth, as opposed to anyplace else, I’ve learned many things. Some lessons came early in life, like remembering to think before speaking. Others, such as sand really does get everywhere if you’re not careful, came later. One lesson I came to appreciate in recent years was that there were few things worse than being disturbed while spending a quiet April morning, chilling on a chaise lounge on my girlfriend’s boat.
Especially when nursing a bit of a hangover from the previous night’s festivities.
Not that I wanted to admit needing time to recover from an evening full of good music, unhealthy food, and adult beverages. If I were to make such an admission, I would insist it wasn’t my fault.
The previous day, you see, was Day One of the Inaugural Party of the Paradise Springs Music & Arts Festival. As owner of the event’s title sponsor, The Sea Breeze Resort and Condominiums, it was important to be an active participant in the merriments.
The fact the Friday’s ten hours of music was headlined by rock and soul favorite JJ Grey & Mofro only added to the eat, drink, and be merry vibe. Now, as I took a sip from my third glass of ice water, my aching head reminded me that I would still eat and be merry with the best of them but was getting a little old for the drink part.
My phone’s ring tone went off while I was applying a new round of sunscreen to my nose. It was tempting to turn the device off, roll over, and take a nap. The festival’s second day was set to start in a few hours, after all. Instead, curiosity won out. I closed Octavia Butler’s Dawn, my current read, and looked to see who was calling.
It was my friend and business partner Jordan Selassie. When it was a social thing, he texted. When he called, it was to ask for advice on how to deal with an ornery wild critter he’d been hired to remove from someone’s home or business.
To be fair, it hadn’t even been a year since he took the helm of Elmo’s Critter Removal from me. It was a pleasure to help him out. It made me feel needed.
“Jordan, my man. What’ve you got for me? Please bear in mind that I’m in recovery mode from last night, so I can’t help you if you’ve got a trapped Sasquatch or boo hag.” My advice often came with a price. In this case, some lighthearted teasing.
“Dude, this isn’t about work. You need to get down to the sandbar where they were going to have the sandcastle building contest, like right now.”
A sandcastle building contest was one of the festival’s arts activities. The contest had been my idea. I figured it would be a fun way to show off our gorgeous sugar-sand beach to the music lovers coming to town.
I racked my brain. Had I forgotten that I was supposed to be one of the judges or help award prizes to the winners? There were no reminders on my phone. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d spaced an appointment or meeting, though.
Maybe I could bluff my way out of whatever I’d forgotten about.
“I’m kind of tied up right now. I hereby nominate you to fill in for me.”
“It’s not about the festival, man.” Jordan’s voice had taken on a high-pitched, panicky tone. “They found a body.”
Alarm bells went off in my head. I bolted upright, my hangover washed away by a sudden rush of adrenaline. Calling me in a state of agitation and talking about a body, the situation wasn’t good. I asked him to slow down and tell me more.
Maybe it was simply a matter that someone staying at the Sea Breeze had been found passed out on the beach. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Jordan took a deep breath. “You know the part of the beach they roped off for the contest, right? Well, Fibbin’ Jimmy was one of the contestants. He got to his spot way before the official start time. Word is he started digging and before he got far, hit something.”
My stomach sank. So much for pinning my hopes on a drunken tourist. “What did he hit?”
“A foot. He freaked out and called the cops. They’ve got a whole crime scene set up now. I really think you ought to come over. Since you know what to do about this kind of thing.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
I gathered up my faithful feline companion Oscar, who’d been lounging in the shade underneath my chair. His dark gray fur was warm to the touch and provided me with a dose of much-needed calmness.
“Sorry, buddy. Gotta go run an errand. Hopefully, I won’t be gone long.”
After giving him a kiss on his fuzzy forehead, I returned him to his spot on the deck, making sure his water bowl was fresh, and that a few kitty treats were available. If he got hot, he’d wander below deck and curl up on a corner of Nic’s bed. Thank the stars my girlfriend and my cat were buds.
I wrote a note to Nic, who was still asleep, that I’d been called away to help Jordan on a critter control problem. She didn’t get to sleep in on a Saturday often, and I didn’t want to spoil her day off with news of a possible murder. What an awful way to wake up.
Before long, I was locking my e-bike to a rack not far from the site of the discovery. As a member of the festival’s planning committee, I knew where all the events were supposed to take place.
If I hadn’t been certain of the exact location of the sandcastle building contest, the gathered throng, flashing blue and red police lights, and bright-yellow crime scene tape were a bit of a giveaway.
The sugar-sand beaches of Paradise Springs, Florida, were as soft as a down-filled pillow. Because of that, the police lights were coming from an odd-looking vehicle designed to traverse the cushy surface without getting stuck. The result was a contraption sporting four tires that resembled the tubes used to float down the lazy river at Paradise Springs Water & Fun Park with heavy treads on the outside. The vehicle’s body looked like the love child of a classic dune buggy’s one-night stand with an all-terrain vehicle.
Police Chief Susan Eikenberry was standing next to the police buggy, talking with James Edison Gates, the grifter and petty criminal known to one and all as Fibbin’ Jimmy. The man’s hands were shoved into a pair of garish pink gym shorts, and his focus was downcast as the cop appeared to be peppering him with question after question.
A uniformed officer, Abigail Nunez, was standing just inside the cordoned off area. She was talking to a woman wearing glasses with lime-green cat-eye frames who was busy writing in a notebook. It was Clarice, the reporter for the Paradise Springs Palladium, my town’s source of local news, weather conditions, and discount coupons to local businesses.
Clarice was nice enough, but when she got her teeth into a story, she had the tenacity of a hungry bull shark. A body found buried in the sand? I was glad I wasn’t in Officer Nunez’s shoes.
Twenty feet or so behind the cop, a white tent had been erected. It didn’t take a criminology degree to know what was inside of it. An evidence technician clad from head to toe in a white Tyvek suit stepped outside for a moment, looked around for a few seconds, then disappeared back inside.
“Elmo, my dude.” Jordan jogged up to me, kicking up small clouds of sand with each stride. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”
“No prob.” I gestured toward the tent. “Any idea who it is?”
My friend shook his head. “There’s a rumor it’s the bass player from one of the bands that played last night. Supposedly, a late-night rendezvous with a fan didn’t end well.”
I lowered my sunglasses and gave Jordan a long look. “Do you believe that?”
“Of course not. Last night’s performers are long gone. I think somebody would have said something if one of their bandmates was missing.”
Relieved that he wasn’t buying into the hot gossip, I pushed my shades back up to the bridge of my nose. I loved the Springs, but sometimes the storytelling could get out of hand. Like the latest rumor that a super-hairy guy who moved to town recently was really a werewolf.
Before my mind could lead me into the treacherous debate about whether creatures of myth and legend were real, Jordan elbowed me.
“Is that who I think it is?” He pointed toward a gray-haired man in a tan suit who was marching toward the chief. Detective Thomas “Spock” Nimoy was at his side.
The man in question was none other than Julius Cronenberg, a businessperson of questionable ethics and piles of cash. He owned Southeast Pest Control, the largest exterminator firm in the region. Elmo’s Critter Removal had been eating into his business over the last year like a hoard of termites let loose in an old, wood-framed house. The man despised Jordan and me equally.
We didn’t share the level of animosity he had for us. The guy wasn’t going to get a Christmas card from us, though.
“Yep. I heard he was in town for the festival. He doesn’t look like he’s on a social call.” I stepped forward. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find out.”
We made our way across the sand at a casual pace. Yes, I wanted to know what was going on. Someone was dead. What if it was a friend? Even if it wasn’t, it was a human being. That mattered. And on top of the human cost, there was an economic concern. Day two of the festival might be in peril. So yeah, I was worried. The less attention we attracted, the better. It was easier to eavesdrop when people failed to notice you.
Many years of catching wild critters taught me that.
The chief dismissed Fibbin’ Jimmy with a flick of her wrist, then shook hands with Cronenberg. A steady breeze was coming from behind us, pushing their conversation away. We edged closer. A crowd had formed around the police vehicle, impeding our progress.
Before we got within earshot, Susan put her hand on Cronenberg’s shoulder and escorted him into the tent.
“Oh, no.” Jordan shook his head. “Please don’t let it be.”
“Don’t let what be?” I put my arm around him. “What’s wrong?”
“Cronenberg’s daughter, Tessa. She has a booth in the artist’s village. What if that’s her in the tent? What if he’s here to identify the body?”
I knew Tessa somewhat. She took discarded products made from wood, glass, and natural fibers and repurposed them into breathtaking pieces of art. Nic had one of Tessa’s pieces hanging on a wall in her office at the marina.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
The words were easier said than done, thanks to the history I had with the man. Months ago, Cronenberg offered to buy Elmo’s Critter Removal. I turned him down, but not before doing my due diligence. Among the things I learned was that his wife, Patricia, was deceased. The couple had another child. A son named Marcus was two years older than Tessa.
“Why else would he be here, dude?” Jordan was shaking like he was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
“I don’t know. Maybe the victim’s Marcus, or one of his employees. The point is, we shouldn’t rush to judgment.”
I asked the spirits above for forgiveness. The last thing I wanted was to imply one person’s death was less significant than another’s. All life was precious. Since my dad’s life was taken from him when I was three, I knew that as well as anybody.
Jordan opened his mouth, but before any words came out, Susan and Cronenberg emerged from the tent. The man had a tissue in one hand. His lips were set in a straight line as he stared out at the gathered crowd.
The chief said something in his ear. He shook his head and kept looking around, almost as if he was searching for someone among the now-silent crowd.
When his gaze landed on us, he pointed a finger in our direction.
“There he is.” Cronenberg’s shout reverberated through the crowd as all heads turned in our direction. “That’s the man who killed my daughter. Arrest him before he gets away.”
I looked around to see who the culprit was. Jordan was doing the same thing.
“Dude, who’s he talking about?” my friend asked.
As a couple of uniformed officers made a beeline in our direction, my blood ran cold. I put my hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “I think he’s talking about one of us.”
End of Excerpt
