Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (3 page)

“Look,” Bill said to Denny. “It’s too early to know anything. I’m sure you can appreciate the need for discretion.”

Denny regarded first Colleen then Rodney then Bill before smiling broadly and patting Bill on the back. “Sure sure, big guy. You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, you hear?”

“Will do,” Bill said, obviously not appreciating Denny touching him.

An awkward silence filled the air, and then Denny signaled his sidekick and the two retreated behind the dunes.

Sparky whined to be free of his leash and Colleen released her grip. The dog instantly sprang forward to be with his retriever friend.

Martin Templeton, the man who had discovered the body, put his arm around his wife Laurie. “Gotta say … it sure is a strange place to end up dead.”

It was true. The body had been buried between a new walkway and the old one that had been covered by the dunes above it. Corolla’s and Carova’s construction practice of building a new walkway over a preexisting one was a result of the state’s Division of Coastal Management regulations that forbid the removal or relocation of sand or vegetation from the primary or frontal dunes. Owners and renters were forbidden from shoveling or sweeping blown or washed-in sand away from or off of the stairs. The stacked walkways up and down the beach made for a peculiar sight. Colleen wondered what vacationers like the Templetons who were unaware of the building codes must think of them.

It was uncertain how long the body had been buried beneath the stairs. But one thing was clear … the body didn’t get there on its own. Colleen was hardly an expert on the decomposition process but she could tell from the color and texture of the skin that it must have been at least several months. They had had a mild winter, so it was possible that the body had been there as far back as the fall, but she doubted that it had been longer than that given the intense tourist activity last summer.

“We’ll need to get a statement from you both,” Bill said to the Templetons.

“Sure,” Martin said, and whistled for his retriever, who had run off with Sparky up the beach. At the sound of the whistle, both dogs came running.

“I hope you catch whoever did it,” Martin said, watching the dogs race to the group, tongues wagging.

“Did what?” Laurie asked.

“Killed him.”

Laurie gasped. “You mean murder?”

“What else?” her husband said.

“We’re packing this instant,” she said and pivoted on her heels.

“I’m afraid you can’t leave until we get your statement,” Bill said.

“Listen to the sheriff, honey,” Martin said, trying to take his wife by the arm.

The woman yanked her hand away. “If you think I’m staying one minute in a house where there’s been a murder—”

“We don’t know that there’s been a murder,” Bill interrupted.

“And if there has been,” Colleen said, “we don’t know that it occurred here.”

“Chief McCabe’s right. Why don’t you two go inside and Deputy Warren will take your statements. I’ll join you once the ME’s team arrives.”

Rodney motioned to the couple. “Shall we?”

Laurie reluctantly nodded and Rodney escorted the couple down the beach to the walkway of the next house and over the dunes. Sparky poked his nose around the side of the tarp.

“No,” Colleen said. She took his leash and inspected the body. “Denny’s right.”

“About what?” Bill asked.

“Our body is a man’s. The arm and shoulder are too large to be a woman’s.” She contemplated the body a moment and then noted Bill’s rather calm demeanor. “Does seeing bodies ever bother you?”

He shrugged. “The first few did. It’s not that you get used to it but, well, it’s part of the job. I’d hate to be a medical examiner though.”

“Speaking of the ME,” she said, spying the forensic team’s four-wheel-drive vehicle carefully maneuvering around parked cars, children building sandcastles, and beach umbrellas. The beach doubled as the official road of the northernmost communities, which necessitated that everyone—whether on foot or wheels—look out for one another.

Bill waved and the medical examiner’s crew was soon upon them. The sun’s intensity increased as the group methodically marked off the area in preparation for extracting the body. Forensics is a strange science, Colleen thought, as she watched them work and helped Bill keep the area secure.

Garrett Kronzer, the medical examiner, quietly spoke with his team, squinted at the body, and wrote notes in a little book. He was a fair-skinned, bespectacled, slightly built man with close cropped hair who—to Colleen—came across more like a college professor than a medical examiner. He was also rather soft-spoken and serious, which is why she had only had a few conversations with him. On one occasion he had lit up when she had asked him how he determined time of death. He had gone on for a full half hour explaining the experiments labs across the country conducted to study what happened to a body when buried in a variety of soil conditions. Once he had finished his explanation, however, he had become silent and that had been the end of their conversation.

Since he had come on board last summer, the ME had developed a reputation for quick, accurate results. Rumors had it that it hadn’t been an easy transition for the new boss. He had led a campaign to overhaul the North Carolina medical examiner system and, in the process, had ruffled a few feathers. Colleen could relate to his struggles. She had had a few of her own when she had first become chief. It was never easy being the new person in charge. But people had to admire his results. She hoped it wouldn’t take Kronzer long to determine the manner and time of death for their John Doe.

The vacationing populace emerged from their rental houses to investigate the damage done by Ana and discover what treasures she had left behind on the beach. Before long, Colleen and Bill were busy keeping curious beachcombers at bay. As Bill explained for the umpteenth time what had been unearthed, her thoughts drifted to the body’s burial location. She had to admit, it was a brilliant place to hide a body. Anyone who knew about the construction regulations knew that the frontal dunes—and hence the body—couldn’t be disturbed. Unfortunately, that didn’t help her with a list of possible suspects. Virtually all of Corolla’s and Carova’s residents knew about the codes. But her mind couldn’t help focusing on one resident in particular—Denny Custis.

She found it odd that Denny had come by the scene with his bodyguard, especially since he had seemed so busy and eager to be rid of her earlier. And the sudden improvement in his eyesight was suspicious. Could he really see the body from that distance or did he somehow already know who it was because he was involved in the death? He would certainly know the walkway construction protocols, the location was not far from where she had visited him this morning, and he had additional oceanfront houses under construction nearby. It wouldn’t have taken him or one of his henchmen long to dump a body here. If the deed had been done at night or during the off-season, it wasn’t likely there would be witnesses. She didn’t have proof, but her gut told her Denny was somehow connected to the demise of their John Doe.

Colleen’s phone buzzed to life. It was Jimmy Bartlett, her veteran captain and right-hand man at the station. “Hey, Jimmy. What’s up?”

“I’m calling to make sure you’re still on for the conference call,” he said.

“Wow, is it that late?”

“I know you’re tied up there. You want me to sit in?”

“Yes, but I’ll be there. The ME’s about done and Bill’s got things under control.”

“See you in a few then.”

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and made her way to Bill. “I have to get back.”

“I figured,” he said. “I’m going to see how Rodney’s doing with the statements. You want to grab a bite later?” he asked.

Her stomach growled. “Does that answer your question?”

He chuckled. “I’ll give you a call then.”

She gave Bill a short salute, slapped her thigh for Sparky to follow, and strolled over the dunes on the neighbor’s boardwalk to her vehicle. She rolled down the window so Sparky could enjoy the ocean air, drove through the neighborhood to a beach access point, and then headed south toward Corolla.

The wind whipped her hair as she drove down the beach, which doubled as Carova’s official highway. She slowed and occasionally stopped for people, dogs, and horses making their way to the water. The speed limit was fifteen miles per hour and she wished that everyone obeyed it. More than once she had seen a horse or child almost hit by someone forgetting that they had to share the beach road.

She was also careful to avoid the ancient cedar and oak stumps protruding from the sand. The stumps were what remained of a maritime forest that had existed some two thousand years ago. They were usually less visible in the summer months when the gentle waves replenished the sand, but some of the larger ones jutted from the earth even during the summer and had been outfitted with red reflectors to warn travelers. Because the storm had washed away much of the sand, there were many more tree remnants than was usual in June and Colleen suspected there would be a lot of vehicle repairs over the next few weeks. When an SUV or pickup encountered the stumps, the stumps always won.

She arrived at the end of Carova where the sanctuary fencing kept the horses safely away from the more-developed neighborhoods of Corolla, rumbled over the steel cattle guard, and drove onto Route 12.

The June sun was shining brightly now. Palm fronds and other vegetative fragments littered yards, pools of water occasionally covered the road, and traffic on Ocean Trail was unusually light for the summer season—all signs that Ana had paid Corolla a visit. Route 12 had flooded during the storm, making any evacuation from Corolla impossible, but it was the dunes that had suffered the most damage. Still, it was nothing compared to what Hurricane Sandy had done back in 2012. Ana had spared the Outer Banks, and for that Colleen was grateful.

She pulled into the Whalehead Station lot. The guys were busy cleaning the engines, picking up storm debris from the property, and hosing sand from the asphalt. Bobby Crepe, the newest member of her team, waved as she parked. Sparky hit her in the face with his wagging tail, eager to be let loose. She opened the door and he took off toward the guys with the hose. They sprayed water into the air and Sparky jumped to bite it. There wasn’t a sprinkler or water source that the dog could resist … except that of a running bath. Baths he hated.

Jimmy emerged from the engine bay, approached, and squatted next to her back tire. “Looks like you’ve got a leak.”

She removed her sunglasses and inspected the tread. “I think I know why,” she said, and pointed to a nail.

“It’s in there pretty good. Wonder how you got that.”

Her cheeks flushed red and it wasn’t from the June sun beating down on the asphalt. “I can’t believe him,” she muttered and stood with her hands on her hips.

“Who?” he asked, rising and peering inquisitively at her.

“What can you tell me about Denny Custis?”

“Not much, except I hear he’s a tough boss to work for.”

“Some people say that about me,” she said, knowing full well what the guys thought about the tight ship she ran.

Normally Jimmy would have made a wisecrack in response. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided eye contact. There was something more he wasn’t telling her.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, unable to withstand her scrutiny, and strode toward the station.

She scurried after him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’re worse than Sparky when he wants a treat, you know that?” he said and entered the shade of the engine bay.

She cut him off and held up her arm to prevent him from maneuvering around her.

“Really?” he said.

“I think Denny may have put that nail in my tire.”

He frowned. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t think he took too kindly to a woman questioning the safety of his construction site or questioning him at all. I got a bad feeling about him and I don’t think I’m the only one. So if there’s something I should know…”

Jimmy lowered his voice. “There are rumors that he’s used some rather unorthodox methods to get zoning permits through faster.”

“What kind of methods?”

“I don’t know.”

“He did seem concerned about deadlines,” she said, remembering her conversation with Denny.

“Not to change the subject,” Jimmy said, “but Chip’s coming.”

“Shoot.” She forced a smile and spun to greet her firefighter.

“Hey, Chief,” Chip said.

“Hey,” she said, stealing a glance at Jimmy, who knew what was coming next.

“You have a second?” Chip asked.

“Jimmy and I have a call about the arsons soon.”

“But that’s not for a few minutes yet,” Jimmy said.

I’ll get you, she thought, and sent mental daggers at Jimmy, who grinned back at her like the Cheshire cat.

“What can I do for you?” she asked Chip.

“I was wondering if you had given any thought to Fawn’s request. She’s been kinda bugging me to ask, seeing as it’s next weekend.”

Three weeks ago, Chip had announced that he and his girlfriend, Fawn Harkins, were getting married. Fawn was a free spirit and into crystals, tea readings, and tarot cards and last summer had read Colleen’s aura and determined that they were bonded in a type of spiritual sisterhood. Fawn had caught Colleen off guard when she had asked Colleen to be one of her “mystical guides into the world of one soulness.” At the time, Colleen hadn’t even been sure what Chip’s pretty girlfriend was talking about and had grumbled that she’d think about it. It wasn’t until Jimmy told her that he had agreed to be Chip’s best man that she realized that Fawn’s “spiritual union ceremony” was, in fact, a wedding and that the young woman wanted Colleen to be the equivalent of a bridesmaid. After last summer’s fuchsia cowboy-themed dress debacle, she wasn’t sure she was ready for another.

“You’re not going to deprive us of seeing you in a bridesmaid dress again, are you?” Jimmy asked, enjoying her discomfort.

Jimmy and Chip chortled. Now you’re both going to get it, she thought.