Wild Tide Read online

  Her eyes sparkled. "Absolutely!"

  Ryan excused himself and left.

  "He seems like a fine young man," I said trying to be magnanimous.

  "He's nice. And I really like him."

  I raised my hands innocently. "I'm not going to run him off. I'm glad you met someone new that makes you happy." I tried to minimize the snarky tone in my voice.

  Madison's eyes narrowed at me again. "So, that's it? No snide comments? No dire warnings?"

  I shrugged. "You're a grown woman. You can make your own decisions. I mean, you've done a background check on him, haven't you?"

  She scoffed. "No! He's a good guy, and I trust my own judgment."

  "Okay,” I said, surrendering almost too easily.

  "Like you run background checks on all the floozies you date?”

  “They are not floozies. Not all of them. But, point taken."

  Madison stared at me waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think she was expecting me to put up more of an argument. Madison had always been a free spirit, and she was the type to fall fast and hard—often to her detriment. She had some real loser boyfriends in the past, but I was trying to keep an open mind.

  Madison attended to the customers she had been neglecting, and the patrons around the bar seemed relieved that the pretty boy had gone. They might actually get served in a timely fashion now.

  If she wasn't going to run a background check on Ryan, I sure as hell was.

  3

  "Tell me good news," I said, answering JD's call.

  "Prosecution just offered a plea deal. Two years, deferred adjudication. If Scarlett doesn't screw up while she's on probation, it will be expunged from her record. $3000 fine. No jail time. The lawyer thinks we should take the deal."

  "How does Scarlett feel about that?"

  "She's mulling it over. If she stays on the straight and narrow, it's like it never happened."

  "I'm sure she'll make the right call."

  “When has she ever made the right call?"

  Jack's daughter hadn't exercised the best judgment as of late.

  “Maybe this is the beginning of a new, more responsible, Scarlett?” It was an optimistic thought at best.

  A grim chuckle escaped Jack’s lips. “Yeah, right.” He sighed. “Anything happening back on the island?"

  "Just another dead body."

  I filled JD in on the details and told him I'd call him as soon as I heard from the medical examiner.

  I sat at the bar, shooting the shit with Harlan. He was a former Marine and was at Khe Sanh when the base was under siege. He had countless war stories, but the current battle he faced seemed like one of the toughest yet.

  A commercial for the evening news came on the TV behind the bar. A local reporter announced, “A new development has some local residents crying foul!”

  The preview cut to an attorney. “We feel that the acquisition of this land is in violation of the law. Florida law specifically prohibits the transfer of private property to a private developer through the use of eminent domain. It is our contention that this project is not designed for the public good.”

  “We’ll have more on that story tonight at 9 PM,” the investigative reporter said.

  “They’re trying to take my goddamn home!” Harlan said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The damn city. They’re going to take the land and sell it to a developer who’s going to put a resort there. Public good my ass! Oh sure, they say it will bring in more tourists, and more money, into the area. We got too many damn tourists already!”

  “Can’t you fight it?”

  “Believe me, I’m trying. That’s been my home for 30 years. I’ve got no desire to move. They could pay me double what it’s worth, I still don’t want to move.”

  Listening to his story made my blood boil. Florida had strict laws to protect against this kind of abuse, but somehow the City Council had deemed the project an acceptable use of eminent domain. They were required to fairly compensate the property owners and provide relocation assistance and funds. But it didn’t seem right that someone could come in and snatch your property against your will.

  Harlan said he had an attorney. The state was obligated to cover the costs of legal fees to property owners. The state would also cover the cost of an independent appraiser, but no amount of compensation would satisfy Harlan.

  He wanted to keep his ocean view.

  Even residents that weren’t directly affected were pissed about the project. They didn’t want a high-rise resort going up in front of their views. They didn’t want the increased traffic and congestion that a large resort would bring to the area.

  I listened to Harlan bitch for a while. It was just about all he could do at the moment.

  I finished my sandwich, said goodbye to Harlan, and strolled down the dock to the Wild Tide. Despite the grim circumstances of the morning, it was shaping up to be a nice day—72°, not a cloud in the sky, and a gentle breeze.

  It would have been a great day to take the boat out, catch a few rays, do a little fishing, but none of that would happen. Sheriff Daniels called me about the time I entered the salon. "We have ourselves a homicide!”

  My face tightened.

  "Brenda matched the dental records with Glenn Parker. She found 2, 9mm slugs in his thoracic cavity. I think it's pretty safe to say he didn't drown."

  "Does she know when it happened?"

  "There's some microbe growing in the flesh. I can't remember what she called it. Anyway, based on its rate of growth, she's estimating it at 36 to 48 hours."

  "That's a pretty wide window of opportunity."

  "What do you want from me?" Sheriff Daniels said, dryly. "I notified his wife. I want you to head over there and ask her a few questions."

  “She's going to love that,” I said with a dose of sarcasm.

  "Try not to sound like you're interrogating her."

  "Do you think she's a suspect?"

  "You know the drill. Spouses are always suspects. Glenn was partners with Rick Lowden. They ran a charter business—fishing, diving, etc. See what you can find out. Keep me in the loop."

  "Will do," I said.

  Daniels gave me the wife’s address and the marina where Glenn’s boat was docked, as well as Rick Lowden’s address.

  I caught a cab over to Glenn Parker's residence. It was a modest one-story home with a white picket fence and a nice porch with a bench swing. I knocked on the door and announced myself as a Deputy Sheriff.

  Three small yappy dogs bolted toward the door, barking. Their paws clattered against the hardwood floors. I could hear them jumping up and down, scratching at the door, excitedly.

  A few moments later, a woman pulled open the door, and scooped the Jack Russell Terriers into her arms. She held a little puppy back with her leg, trying to keep it from bolting into the yard. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. She had a round face, straight brown hair, and a hint of freckles across her cheeks.

  "Mrs. Parker?" I asked over the barking dogs.

  She nodded, trying her best to contain the rambunctious animals.

  I introduced myself, and the Jack Russells kept barking.

  "Stop that," Mrs. Parker said to the dogs.

  They didn't listen.

  "What are their names?”

  “This is Max,” she said, nodding to one. “And this is Lucy. And the little one is Buddy.”

  "Hey Max,” I said, extending my hand to pet his head.

  A few scratches behind the ear, and underneath the chin, and Max and I were on good terms. Not to be ignored, I gave Lucy an equal amount of affection, then squatted down and petted Buddy.

  "I'm sorry about that. They always get excited around new people."

  "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Parker.”

  “Debbie,” she said, correcting my formality.

  I stood up. “I know this is a delicate time, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions? The sooner I get information, the
better chance we have of solving this."

  Her face crinkled. "Solving this?"

  "Sheriff Daniels didn't tell you?”

  She shook her head.

  “It looks like your husband was murdered."

  She burst into sobs.

  The dogs whimpered and licked her face.

  I frowned, feeling helpless. I never liked to see people suffer—unless, of course, they deserved it.

  After a moment she pulled herself together and invited me in.

  I stepped inside, and she led me into the living room and offered me a seat on the couch. She set the dogs down, and they both rushed me.

  The interior was tidy, yet lived in. The accommodations were modest. There was a nice 42 inch flatscreen TV and new-ish leather couches that had seen a little wear and tear from the Jack Russells gnawing around the edges.

  Max climbed on the couch beside me and nosed his snout under my hand, looking for more affection. Buddy was too short to get on the couch, so I helped him up. He was absolutely adorable, with a white coat and a rusty patch that covered one eye.

  Lucy hopped onto the couch and tried to squeeze her way in.

  “Need a dog?” Mrs. Parker asked.

  “Oh, no! I can barely take care of myself.”

  “I’ve given all the little ones away, except Buddy. He could use a good home.”

  I continued to pet the little guy as I proceeded with my line of inquiry. "When was the last time you saw Glenn?"

  Mrs. Parker thought about it for a moment. "Last Thursday, I think. I left town to go visit my mother in Fort Lauderdale. I got back to Coconut Key on Tuesday. Glenn wasn’t here. I knew something was wrong right away. I called the sheriff on Wednesday to report him missing."

  "How did you know something was wrong?"

  "Glenn had left food out on the counter. It had been there a few days. There were roaches in the sink. It freaks me out just thinking about them.” She shivered. “Glenn would never leave food out or dirty dishes in the sink. He wasn’t a neat freak, but he was clean."

  "Were you two having difficulty?"

  She hesitated a moment, shifted in her seat, then nodded. "Why do you ask?"

  "I noticed you aren’t wearing your wedding ring."

  She glanced to her hand and frowned, looking embarrassed. There was a small tan line where her ring had been. She took a deep breath. “I’d gone to my mother's to cool off for a few days. I told him I wanted a divorce. We were fighting a lot."

  "About what?"

  She looked at me like I was prying too much. She hesitated a moment, then answered. "What do couples fight about?”

  “Usually money, sex, infidelity…"

  She frowned again. "There you go."

  "Was he having an affair?" I asked.

  Mrs. Parker cringed. "No. I was."

  I raised a curious eyebrow.

  "I hope you don't think bad of me, it's just that… Glenn had grown distant. I met someone who made me feel pretty and happy, and one thing led to another.”

  "I understand. These things happen." I paused. "You said you were in a fight. Were the fights ever violent? Did you ever threaten one another?"

  "Oh no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that. He was never violent or abusive toward me."

  "What about you toward him?"

  Her face crinkled. "No. I would never hurt him!” She paused, thinking. "You don't think that I…?"

  "No. I'm just trying to get information."

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Do you own a gun?" I asked, delicately.

  Mrs. Parker tightened up again. "Not really. I mean, they're not mine. Glenn has a few hunting rifles, and a few pistols."

  "Are they in the house?"

  She nodded.

  "Do you mind if I take a look at them?"

  She hesitated a moment, then stammered, "I guess."

  She didn't move for a moment, then she stood from the chair and led me into the bedroom. She opened the closet door and two long rifles were leaning in the corner—a 30.06, and a .270.

  "The pistols are in the nightstand on the right side of the bed.”

  I moved across the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a Smith & Wesson .38 special. It was in pristine condition with nice bluing. Next to it was a 9mm Sig.

  I dug in my pocket and pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves. I snapped the purple things on my hands, then picked up the 9mm. I sniffed the weapon and my nose filled with the smell of gun oil and the faint traces of gunpowder.

  The weapon hadn’t been fired recently.

  I press-checked the weapon.

  There was a cartridge in the chamber. I pressed the mag release button and dropped out the magazine and inspected it.

  It was full.

  I slapped it back into the mag well. "Do you mind if I take this down to the station for analysis? I will return it as soon as we're done."

  She froze.

  "It will help us rule you out as a suspect. If the ballistics don't match, then this is not the murder weapon."

  She relaxed a bit. "Sure, go ahead. I've got nothing to hide." She paused. "For the record. I didn't kill him."

  "I'm not suggesting you did. This is just routine procedure."

  "Do I need a lawyer?"

  "You are within your rights to seek the advice of counsel. But right now you're not a suspect."

  "Oh, okay,” she said, hesitantly.

  "Can you think of anyone who wanted to harm your husband?"

  4

  "He's had more than a few death threats," Mrs. Parker said

  That piqued my curiosity. "From whom?"

  "It's total bullshit,” she said. "I really feel sorry for the man, but it wasn't Glenn's fault. A former client filed a wrongful death suit. His wife drowned on a deep dive, and he tried to blame Glenn. Said the equipment was faulty." Her face crinkled up. "The equipment wasn't faulty. Glenn was meticulous about caring for his equipment. The truth is, they were diving deeper than they should have been, and the girlfriend freaked out, panicked, and burned through her oxygen. They stayed down too long, and she didn't do the required safety stops on the way up.”

  "What happened with the lawsuit?”

  "It was thrown out. But Nick Phelps continues to blame Glenn. I mean, if anybody's got a motive, it's Nick."

  "You know where I can find him?"

  "I'm sure I have his contact information around here somewhere with all the court papers."

  "Can you think of anybody else that might have animosity toward your husband?"

  She sighed. "Well, he wasn’t getting along too well with his partner, Rick." She paused for a moment in thought. "Where did you say the body was found again?"

  "About a mile north of Urchin Key Island."

  “Glenn was found at sea. Maybe Rick finally snapped. I would definitely look into him."

  "What was the issue?"

  "A partnership is like a marriage. There can often be friction over finances."

  "How is the business doing?"

  "Not well. The lawsuit, and the bad press, really slowed things down. Glenn had a lot of good features, but marketing wasn't one of them. I told him he needed to update his website. It looked like something from 1994. He should have been advertising on social media. I don't know how to do any of that stuff, or I would have helped."

  “Did they ever argue?”

  “All the time. They started out as friends, but it had gotten to the point where they couldn’t stand each other.”

  “Did Rick ever threaten Glenn?”

  She thought for a moment. “Not that I know of.”

  I thanked her for her time and told her I’d be in touch.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a dog?” she asked. “He’s absolutely adorable.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, but—”

  “Take him for a day. If it doesn’t work out, bring him back tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about puppies,” I said.

 
Almost on cue, Buddy pawed at my leg and looked at me with his adorably cute eyes. His brow knitted together, looking sad and pathetic.

  How could I say no to a face like that?

  The dog clearly wielded some type of sorcery that I didn’t understand. I was ready to scoop him up and bring him home, but I thought better of it. I didn’t have any food or supplies, and I didn’t know how JD would feel about a little dog running around, raising hell on his new boat. I didn’t even know if the boat would be puppy proof.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “When you’re ready, let me know,” she said with a used car salesman’s grin.

  I knelt down and petted Buddy again. I needed to get out of there before I came home with a dog. They all followed me to the door, and I said goodbye.

  I was a cold, calculated killer. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Yet the little puppy was making me feel like a big softy.

  Never get emotionally involved with suspects, victims, or clients.

  But I already had a soft spot for the dog.

  I dropped Parker’s 9mm off at the crime lab and headed to Sea Point Harbor. I tried to clear my head along the way. I did not need a pet—that was for certain.

  Sea Point wasn’t as nice or as well-maintained as the marina at Diver Down, or even Pirates’ Cove. It was on the west side of the island and was home to several sport-fish charters and commercial fishing operations. The grounds were a little overgrown, and there wasn’t a restaurant/bar on the premises.

  I strolled down the dock, looking for Glenn’s boat, Moby Debt. It was a 55’ Ultramarine Sportfish. She had aggressive styling with a deep-V hull that allowed the boat to carve through the water with ease. The cockpit had a teak deck, tuna door, and live bait well at centerline. The mezzanine had seating for four, with a freezer underneath, and tackle stowage to port.

  Floating the monthly note on a boat like this while business was in decline would make just about anyone nervous.

  Rick was in the cockpit cleaning up. He was in his early 40s, curly reddish-brown hair, short beard, and a belly that had seen its share of light beer.

  A deckhand assisted. He was a skinny guy, sleeved in tattoos, wearing a white tank top and jeans. He had dark hair and dark eyes and didn’t seem like he had much experience on a boat.