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  "I left here about 6:30 PM, then met Sterling at his apartment. We had dinner at Blowfish, hit a couple bars on Oyster Avenue, and ended up at Bumper till 2 AM, then went to Speak Easy. I think it was 4 or 5 AM by the time we got back to his apartment."

  "And what time did you say you came home this afternoon?”

  “When I called you. Don't you have records of that kind of stuff?”

  “Yes, we do."

  "Then why ask?"

  Sharon chimed in. "He's asking the same thing over and over again in different ways to see if there are inconsistencies in your statement. I watch all the cop shows. I know how this works."

  Evie’s eyes widened. "You think I'm a suspect?"

  "Everyone's a suspect, dear," Sharon said. "He's just doing his job. I'd be concerned if he wasn't asking questions."

  Evie paused. “Do you know how Aunt Helen died?”

  "We think she was put in a headlock and choked to death," I said.

  Evie's eyes filled, and Sharon shuddered.

  I asked Sharon. “Where were you last night?”

  She lifted her brow and clutched her chest. “Me?”

  I nodded.

  “I was on my boat, Prosperity.” She pointed to a 32-foot sailboat four slips down on the other side of the dock. “I made dinner, had a glass of wine, and read a book.”

  “You didn’t see Helen?”

  “Earlier in the day.”

  “Can anyone verify your whereabouts?”

  She gave me an annoyed look. “No. But you can’t possibly think I’d put my best friend in a chokehold and strangle her to death. Look at me. I’m hardly capable.”

  I quickly surveyed her face and arms. I seriously doubted she murdered her friend, and she didn’t have any obvious scratch marks or bruising. Sharon was low on my suspect list.

  “Did Helen have any disgruntled clients?” I asked. “You said she was going through a bit of a dry spell. Maybe there were customers who weren’t satisfied?"

  "Oh, man,” Evie said. “There was this one lady… Let me tell you, she was pissed off."

  "What happened?"

  "Usually everybody's really cool. We've only had a few problems here and there. But I don't know, this woman went off the deep end.”

  “Explain.”

  “Helen never gave people direct advice. That's a surefire way to get into trouble. Like if somebody comes to you and asks if they should break up with their boyfriend, you can't tell them yes or no. You pause solemnly, close your eyes, take a deep breath, then speak something positive over their life, like…” she spoke in a dramatic tone, “I see you taking charge of your own destiny and living the life that you deserve. The answer will come to you, and you will know the right thing to do. Then people ask how will I know? Will there be a sign? And you'll say, trust in the universe. It will come to you. Things will unfold as they are meant to. Or some shit like that.”

  “Do you know what the specific issue was?” I asked.

  "I think she asked Helen for advice about the stock market. I don't know what happened, and I don't know what Helen told her. But apparently, she lost everything. Her husband had just died of cancer, and she showed up here with a gun."

  “A gun?” I asked.

  "Helen calmed her down and assured her that everything would be okay. It was pretty tense for a minute, and I thought we were both going to die. I don't know, Helen just had this way of calming people down. Somehow, she got the woman settled. She left, and we never heard from her again. That was three or four months ago," Evie said.

  "Did you call the Sheriff’s Department?"

  "No. Helen didn't want to press charges. She said the poor woman had been through enough.”

  "Do you remember her name?"

  Evie thought for a moment. “Ruth. I'm not sure what her last name is.” Evie paused. “Mayfield. No, Masterson. No, it’s...”

  "Mathers," Sharon said as a light bulb went off in her brain.

  "Yeah, that's it!”

  Brenda and her crew had loaded Helen's remains onto a gurney and covered her with a shroud. They rolled her out of the salon and transferred her carefully down the gangway to the dock.

  Evie's eyes welled, and Sharon put her arm around her. They both teared up.

  Just as they rolled Helen away, a lanky rocker dude strutted down the dock, his eyes fixed on the gurney. He had long dark hair, brown eyes, and wore skinny black jeans and a leather jacket. He looked like a lot of the kids that hung around JD's practice hall. He crossed the gangway, and his black Converse high-tops slapped against the deck. "I got here as soon as I could, babe."

  Evie stood up and rushed into his arms. She squeezed him tight and sobbed again.

  "I'm sorry, babe,” Sterling said. “This totally sucks."

  After the reunion, I had questions for Sterling.

  12

  I pulled Sterling aside and asked him a few questions. He shifted nervously. But then again, most people don't like talking to cops.

  "Last night, I was with Evie,” he said.

  "What time did she come over to your place?”

  He shrugged. "I don't know. 6 or 7 PM."

  "Where did you go to eat?”

  “Sakana Shack.”

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "Yeah, positive."

  “That’s not what Evie said."

  His face crinkled. His eyes flicked across the deck to her, then back to us. "What did she say?"

  "She said you went to Blowfish."

  "Oh, yeah, that's right. We went to Sakana Shack the day before. It all kinda runs together. You know how it is, man."

  “Sushi two days in a row?”

  “She loves that shit.”

  "Where did you go after that?"

  "Oyster Avenue. We hit a few bars."

  "Do you remember where you were between 8 and 10 PM?"

  "I told you, we ate wherever she says we ate, then we went to Breakwater, and we ended up at that fucking techno club that I hate, Bumper. But hey, you gotta go where the lady wants, right?"

  There were a few discrepancies, but it was matching Evie’s story for the most part.

  "Did you get along with Helen?"

  He shrugged. "She was okay. What did Evie tell you?"

  “She told me there was a little tension."

  Sterling groaned and deflated. "She told you, didn't she?"

  "I want to hear your side of it."

  He looked across the deck nervously at Evie, who was glaring at him. Sterling whispered, “You know how it is, man. Shit happens.” He raised his hands innocently. "But I'm a reformed man. No more groupies. Evie's a keeper." He said the last line loud enough for Evie to hear. With a wink and a mouth click, he looked across the deck to his sweetheart.

  I looked him over and asked to see his forearms. He pushed up his sleeves and held out his hands. He didn't have any scrapes or bruises.

  I thanked him for cooperating and told him we might have more questions later.

  He strolled across the deck and talked to Evie.

  "Is everything okay?" a man shouted from the dock as he passed by, walking toward his boat.

  A look of disgust twisted on Evie’s face. "No, Cody. Everything is not okay.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Helen's dead."

  Cody's brow lifted with surprise, and his eyes rounded. "No shit? What happened?"

  "Why do you care?"

  "Just being neighborly. I'm sorry, Evie. I really am. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

  Cody was in his late-30s. He had a slender build and a narrow face. He looked like he’d be pretty scrappy in a fight. You’ve gotta watch out for those tall, skinny guys—they’ve got reach and can surprise you with their strength. Cody’s light brown hair was probably blond when he was a boy. Now it was a sandy color with hints of gray.

  He boarded a rundown 42-foot sailboat in the neighboring slip, then disappeared into the cabin.

  JD and I had watched
the interaction with curiosity. We stepped across the deck to Evie. "Who's that?"

  "Cody Hammond," she said with an eye roll.

  "What's his story?"

  "He's just a loser that lives next door. That's all."

  "I take it you've had some conflict with him?"

  "He's just obnoxious. He and his loser friends will sit in the cockpit and drink all night and get loud. It used to frustrate Helen. She asked him a few times to be more considerate, and it didn't seem to do much good. Plus, he's always looking at me like a creeper. I mean, come on, he’s twice my age. Like I'm really gonna sleep with that dude."

  "I think maybe we need to have a talk with Cody," JD muttered.

  "How heated did things get between Cody and Helen?"

  Evie shrugged. "Nothing major. He's just that annoying neighbor.”

  “Is there anybody else in the marina that Helen didn’t get along with?” I asked.

  “Well, there’s that busybody, Eleanor Kensington,” Sharon said, looking a few slips down. She waved and smiled at Eleanor, who stood in the cockpit of her boat, curiously watching. Still smiling, Sharon said, “She didn’t really approve of Helen’s line of work. And there are the two delinquents Dawson and…” She thought for a moment.

  “Zane,” Evie answered.

  “Yeah, Dawson and Zane. I’d definitely question those rejects.”

  “Where can we find them?”

  “Two slips down on this side. Beer, Bongs & Bitches,” she said with an eye-roll.

  “Anybody else we should look at?”

  Sharon and Evie exchanged a glance.

  “That’s really all I can think of at the moment,” Sharon said.

  We left the Mystic Seas and ambled next-door to the rundown 42-foot sailboat, Seaduction. From the dock, we shouted to Cody.

  He poked his head out of the cabin a moment later. "Can I help you?"

  JD flashed his badge. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

  "Sure thing," he said as he stepped into the cockpit.

  I quickly surveyed him for any cuts or abrasions on the face or forearms. He didn't appear to have any.

  "Were you in the marina last night?" I asked.

  "Not until late."

  "Where were you between 8 and 10 PM?"

  "I was at the Rusty Anchor," Cody said.

  "What time were you there?”

  He shrugged.

  "I was there from happy hour till midnight,” Cody said. "My girlfriend is out of town, so there wasn’t much to do around here. Plus, you know how it is.” He had a sly grin on his face.

  “When the cat’s away,” JD said, egging him on.

  “Exactly. I don't mean to pry, but what happened?"

  "Ms. Carter was murdered," I said.

  "How?"

  “We can’t release any specifics at this time."

  “I understand.” Cody shook his head. “That's a damn shame. Helen was a nice woman." He looked across to the Mystic Seas, then back to us. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, flicked one out, placed it between his lips, and pulled it from the package. From a back pocket, he produced a disposable lighter and struck the flame. He took a deep drag from the cigarette, then exhaled a cloud of smoke upwards. It drifted away with the breeze.

  "It's my understanding that you butted heads with Ms. Carter from time to time,” I said.

  His face crinkled. "I wouldn't say we butted heads. I mean, sometimes she got a little frustrated with me. But I had no ill will toward her. I certainly didn't kill her, if that’s what you’re getting at."

  “Have you seen anyone suspicious in the area over the last several days?"

  "Can't say that I have."

  "And what time did you say you were at the Rusty Anchor?"

  “I got there around 4:30 PM. Maybe 5 o'clock?"

  "A regular hangout for you?"

  "I'm there on occasion." He took another drag of his cigarette.

  "Is this your boat?"

  "No, it's my girlfriend's."

  “How long has she been out of town?"

  "A couple days now. Her mother's not doing well. She goes up to Miami frequently to visit."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  "Thank you. Me too." His tone was a little insincere. I got the impression that he definitely liked it when his girlfriend was away. But that didn't make him a killer.

  I gave him a card. "If you can think of anything that might be helpful. Let us know."

  "Will do. And once again, my condolences to Evie.”

  Cody watched us walk down the dock, on to our next interview.

  A man in his mid-40s stood in the cockpit of his 45-foot SunTrekker yacht, directly across from the Mystic Seas. He watched with curiosity.

  We stepped to the stern of his boat, and I flashed my badge. We made introductions, and he told us his name was Wesley Echols. He had dark hair, a square jaw, and an even tan. He carried himself as a man of style and sophistication. He wore a navy sport jacket, and a glass of red wine dangled from his hand.

  “Were you in the marina last night between 8 and 10 PM?” I asked.

  “Sadly, no.” He frowned. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  I gave him the quick version, leaving out specifics. “Where were you at the time of the murder?”

  13

  “I was out to dinner with a lady friend.” A proud smile tugged Wesley’s lips. "I didn't get back to the marina until after midnight."

  "Have you noticed anyone suspicious around the marina lately?" I asked.

  "Other than the regular band of miscreants, it's been pretty tame. There were always people coming and going to see Madam Zykov. I know some folks in the marina didn't much care for the added traffic."

  "Like who?"

  Wesley smiled and tilted his head in the direction of Eleanor Kensington. She was still sitting in her cockpit, watching the commotion.

  "What time did you leave the marina last night?" I asked

  "I think I left around 7 PM, but don't hold me to that."

  "Do you mind telling me who you were with?"

  "A stunning little blonde named Lively." He made an impressed face. "22. Perfect little hard-body. She definitely lived up to her name. I'm telling you, life is good."

  He and JD would get along well.

  “I’ll need her contact information,” I said.

  Wesley seemed hesitant to give it to me at first, but he finally shared her contact info. “Don’t move in on my turf,” he said, half joking.

  "Did Helen have any altercations with anyone in the marina?" I asked.

  He gave a hesitant shrug. “I liked Helen. We got along. But not everybody did.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Wesley glanced around, then leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. “You might want to talk to my neighbor." He nodded again toward Eleanor. "And the little punks over there,” he said, motioning in the direction of Zane’s and Dawson’s boat. "I think they got into it with Helen a few times over noise and parties. That was one thing about Helen. She didn't much care for people making noise after 10 PM, and she wasn't afraid to tell you about it. She could be very opinionated and uncompromising."

  “How well do you know your neighbor, Cody?”

  “I say hello when I see him. That’s about it.”

  “You ever have any problems with him?”

  “Like I said, I keep to myself. It doesn’t bother me if he’s up late, drinking beer with his friends. If I’m not entertaining on the boat, I’m out and about myself. I’m kind of a night owl.”

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Echols?”

  He smiled. “I’m retired. My job is living my best life.”

  Judging by the name of his boat, Stocks and Blondes, I guessed he was a retired financial advisor.

  “Do you smoke, Mr. Echols?”

  “No. And please, call me Wesley.”

  I gave him my card and told him to call if he remembered anything pertinent.

  We strolled tw
o slips down to Eleanor Kensington's sailboat. She'd been watching us talk with Wesley. I flashed my badge and made introductions.

  "I told Helen for years that she was inviting the devil into her life,” Eleanor said. “I'm not gonna say I told you so, but when you play with Satan, don't be surprised when you get burned."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  Eleanor was mid-60s. She had short bottle-blonde hair, big sunglasses, and wore a scarf around her neck. She had probably been a looker in her 20s. Sadly, those days were gone. She had kept her shape reasonably well, but things were bulging where she probably wished they were flatter and drooping where they had once been perky. Eleanor wore a little too much makeup, trying to hide the fine lines in her face, but it ended up being too thick, which made it crack and crease, accentuating her wrinkles.

  "All that psychic crap,” Eleanor said. “That's the devil's work. And if you ask me, Helen was defrauding people, putting on an act, calling herself Madam Zykov. What a crock! That ought to be illegal. She wasn’t psychic. She sure as hell didn't see this coming, did she?"

  "I take it you two weren't friends," I said.

  "No," Eleanor replied. “I try to be kind to everyone, even people I don't like, but something about her just rubbed me the wrong way. It was like that from the first time we met. Like two cats with our backs hunched.”

  “Were you in the marina last night?"

  "Yes, I was."

  "Did you see or hear anything strange?”

  Eleanor shook her head. "No, but not too much happens around here without me knowing about it."

  “Do you recall what you were doing between 8 and 10 PM?” I asked.

  “Watching television, if I recall correctly.”

  “Did you ever have any direct confrontations with Helen?”

  “We exchanged a few words on occasion. I wouldn’t call it a confrontation,” she said, downplaying it. “I just wanted to see her get her life right with the Lord. She had plenty of unsavory characters coming to visit her. Heathens, every one. We’ve got enough sinners around here as it is.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Well, you were just talking to one of them.” She leaned in and hissed, “I swear Wesley is with a different girl every week. Sometimes two or three different ones in the same week. And I think some of them are of the working type if you know what I mean.” She sighed. “And don’t get me started about these misfits over here, she said, motioning across the dock to Dawson’s and Zane’s boat, Beer, Bongs & Bitches.”