Smokey Eyes Page 2

  Smokey Eyes stared at me through the fog. It could have been anyone. The unseen mouth that came with the eyes didn’t say a word. I waited to feel the grip of strong hands on my arms. With a heave-ho I’d be lifted topside. The eyes locked with mine, blinked, and then vanished. The footsteps withdrew. The boat bounced. And then all was silent.

  What the heck? Someone saw me sagging over the precipice of death and they walked away? If I ever got out of this predicament, I’d hunt them, coat them in honey, and plant them in an anthill.

  I craned my neck toward the inky black water. A plastic bag floated at my feet in a rain-bowed oil slick. Think. Think. I pushed off from the hull with my forehead again. This time I grazed my brow. What an inglorious way to go. My body would be discovered buoyant in the marina just like the body that drifted toward me.

  Body!

  Someone screamed. It was me. The cork-like corpse sloshed closer. Aside from the smirk on his face and the knife stuck in his chest, Brent Toast looked much as he had when he tried to swamp us.

  Jaimie’s father-in-law was skewered with what looked like a boating knife, not that I knew what one looked like—but it was bigger than a bread knife. I drew in a deep breath and found a better scream, one loud enough to raise the dead.

  Brent Toast’s corpse bobbed against the Very Crabby hull. The gentle wake of a passing boat carried him out of my sight.

  The fog was lifting. I was drooping.

  “Geez Louise!” A familiar voice called.

  Chapter 3

  Lizzy peered at me from the deck of the Very Crabby. I was never so glad to see her face. She grabbed my left arm as Jaimie took hold of my right arm. My fingers felt as if they were permanently attached to the safety line. “One, two, three!” Lizzy counted.

  With a loud pop all ten of my digits broke free and I flopped on the deck like a trophy tuna. The gals fell backward on their bottoms.

  “Brent Toast—” I was interrupted by a woman screaming.

  The sailboat rocked as more feet hit her deck and raced to the stern. I finished my sentence. “Is toast!”

  Lizzy and Jaimie joined the crowd that gathered at the back of the boat. I followed them crawling on my belly, my legs too shaky to support me. With my left shoe lost in the icky water there was no sense in keeping the right one. I kicked it off.

  Kathy leaned against the cabin, her fist pressed to her mouth. She must have been the screamer. The non-fog mystically blew off, leaving the scene of the crime clear for the moment.

  Splash! Splash! Splash! Dave, Nancy, and Sonny Angel jumped into the water and moved towards the floater.

  Lizzy and Jaimie climbed to the roof of the cabin. My fingers, deprived of circulation for so long, were temporarily useless. I squatted on the deck next to the cabin and hugged myself. Despite the heat I was shivering.

  Dave, Nancy, and Sonny treaded water as they hoisted the soaked corpse up. Chip Toast and the sandy-haired stranger readied to pull Brent’s body onto the deck of the Very Crabby.

  “Get a tarp!” Dave yelled to Lizzy.

  She scrambled from her perch and took a blue tarp from the compartment at the back of the boat. She spread it out on the transom just in time to receive the body as it was heave-hoed over the stern by Chip and Sandy Hair.

  Chip’s face was ghostly pale, his eyes two shock-ridden orbs. Less than fifteen minutes earlier his father had been gleefully swamping this very boat.

  Nancy climbed onto the rear swim platform and then the deck. Dave and Sonny followed. All three had watery bloodstains on their shirts.

  Lizzy backed away and dropped down beside me. “I can’t believe this…”

  “Someone else was on this boat. I saw their eyes in the fog. They looked at me and then disappeared leaving me hanging. It might have been the killer.”

  The Very Crabby captain moved to the dripping corpse. She touched his neck as if the bloody knife wasn’t proof enough. The knife?

  I leaned forward to get a better look. The blade was gone!

  “The cops are on their way,” Jaimie said. She passed a cellphone to Kathy, who slipped it into her purse. That reminded me, my purse was still in a compartment below deck. If I didn’t snatch it—pronto—it would get caught up as evidence. Toast of the Town and Very Crabby were sure as heck going to be off limits—designated crime scenes.

  Wobbling to my feet, I made my way below deck. Unable to hold the ladder railing with my cramped fingers, I tumble-skidded down the stairs slamming into Nancy. I could have sworn she was on deck.

  The skipper of the Very Crabby came at me like a battering ram, hitting me with rapid-fire questions. “What do you want down here? There’s nothing to see.”

  She squinted, the lines around her eyes begging for Nonna’s cream. “Why were you hanging off the side of my boat?”

  She grabbed me by the shoulders. “I heard you saw someone on my boat! Do you know who stabbed Brent Toast? You understand what kind of karma this is bringing to my yacht?”

  All I wanted was off her boat and into my nice clean shower. No need to answer to the bully-lady. The cops would grill me soon enough.

  “Forgot my purse. Be out of your way in a minute.”

  I elbowed past her, opened the compartment, but my bag wasn’t there. However, a five-inch gash had been chipped from the bulkhead next to the compartment. It hadn’t been there when I tucked my purse away.

  Nancy stuffed my pink tote into my hands. “Here!” she barked. “I wondered who owned this. The zipper is open.”

  “Thanks! I’ll be going now!” I closed my purse and started up the ladder, the strap over one shoulder.

  Nancy grabbed at my salted skirt and yanked me off the steps. “You know something, don’t you?”

  “Let go of my dress or I’ll be forced to hurt you!”

  “Right. I’m so afraid.” She shoved me up the steps while she remained below.

  Hunky Officer Kal and his father, Starfish Cove Police Department Chief Hal Miranda, stood over the corpse. Kal held a cell phone to his ear, while the portly chief appeared to be questioning Sandy Hair. I stepped behind Lizzy, Jaimie and Kathy.

  “Who’s the guy with the sandy hair?” I asked in a whispery voice.

  Jaimie answered while keeping her eyes glued on the policemen. “That’s Grayson. He is…was Brent’s latest business partner. My father-in-law was a wheeler dealer—mostly expensive real estate.”

  Lizzy turned to look at me. I mouthed the words—I’m going.

  The joints in my arms and fingers ached. I had to get off the boat and track down a fistful of aspirin. I knew more than I knew. I’d heard Jaimie arguing with the victim. Keeping that a secret was not an option.

  Officer Robbie, a part-timer who sometimes assisted Kal in his investigations, stood on the dock. Not about to try that leap again, I reached out to him.

  “I’m supposed to keep everyone on the boat.” He shook his buzz-cut head.

  “It’s too crowded. There’s no room for Kal and the Chief to do their thing. I’ll be up by those tents.”

  The young officer glanced at the crowd on the boat and then at the party tents. He reached for my hand.

  I wobbled over the safety line trying not to recall my near death dangle. Squeezing his fingers, I balanced on the rim of the deck and then jumped to the wooden dock.

  Deck is bad. Dock is good.

  Once my bare feet hit terra firma I carefully picked my way over the rough planks. Splinters on my soles weren’t as bad as a knife in the chest, but they still hurt. Limping up the dock, I checked boating off my bucket list.

  Tillie and Antoine stood under the canopy keeping a proper snooping distance. I tried to reciprocate but they spotted me. “Is that a body down there? Did someone drown?” She slurred her words. Tillie had a snoot full of flutes.

  I stepped around them. “The police will probably question everyone at the club. Might as well make yourselves comfortable.”

  Antoine blanched as white as Tillie’s shorts. He d
ropped his sunglasses from the top of his head to cover his eyes. What did he have to hide?

  “Do you know Brent Toast?” I asked him.

  He sputtered like an old motorboat. “Is..is…that the dead guy’s name?”

  Telltale sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples in inky trails. Maybe he used watercolors on his comb-over.

  “How do you know the victim is a guy?” I asked, certain I’d trapped him.

  “Brent’s not a lady’s name.”

  So much for my detective skills. Sherlock Holmes had nothing to worry about.

  “Olive, I need to speak with you.”

  I turned to Officer Kal, or just plain Kal as he always introduced himself, probably to get people to drop their guard.

  He was sort of a friend, but I wasn’t about to drop my guard.

  Chapter 4

  My sort of a friend led me to a garden area.

  With a sigh I grabbed a bottle of water, plopped down in one of the Adirondack chairs and waited for the grilling, confident that handsome Kal wouldn’t break out the rubber hose or water board. The grit on my calves rubbed against the wood of the chair. The irritation reminded me of the burn on my cheek, which reminded me of my sore fingers.

  I rummaged through my purse. Finally reaching the bottom, I took out my pocket mirror and groaned. A red mark ran up one cheek and a scrape ran down my nose. It was a darn good thing there was no connection between Toast and me. I looked suspiciously like I battled a burly guy fighting for his life. I popped my bottle of aspirins and downed three followed by a slug of water.

  The County Medical Examiner’s black van arrived.

  “Stay!” Kal said.

  I possessed a PhD from NYU. I was not a puppy in need of training.

  Kal greeted the corpse doctor who carried a black bag and a ho-hum attitude. The ME gave me a nod. Being recognized by the sawbones of last resort said it all about my life since I came to Starfish Cove.

  The ME trudged down the dock lugging his satchel. He leaped from the dock to the boat stepping over the safety line as if it wasn’t there. I’d like to see him do it in high heels.

  Taking a pen and a small notebook from his pocket, Officer Kal sat in the chair next to mine. “Witnesses say you were the first to discover the body?”

  His cozy proximity didn’t overcome his official-sounding question. The person who finds the body is always the first suspect in a cop’s mind. “Should I call you officer or just plain Kal?”

  “Just answer my questions.” He studied my damaged face. “Were you in a fight? With a boat captain by any chance? A now deceased boat captain.”

  “Not a boat captain. A boat.”

  His look of puzzlement pushed me to confess the entire humiliating boat dangle—including overhearing Jaimie arguing and Smokey Eyes looking down at me.

  “You can’t swim? Everyone can swim. It’s as natural as walking or dancing.” He looked at me as if I had admitted to being from Mars. “You can’t live around all this water and not swim. You’d better learn and fast. Get Lizzy to teach you.”

  His lecture on water safety over, he returned to being a cryptic cop. “Give me all the details. Everything you might have seen or heard up to and when you discovered the body.”

  “I’m more an ear witness than eye.

  “Where was Jaimie?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  “Who was Jaimie arguing with?”

  “It was a man. I couldn’t make out the voice. My memory is mostly sweaty palms and head to hull banging. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Chip Toast. His voice is higher pitched—this one was deep and growly. Maybe it was that Grayson guy or Brent Toast.”

  “How long did you…hang around?”

  I gave him a withering look. If I slugged him with my purse, would it be ruled justifiable?

  “Give me your dangling in real time, Olive.”

  Definitely justifiable. I scrunched up my face while trying to guestimate how long I had decorated the side of the Very Crabby. “Maybe twenty minutes.”

  “Why didn’t you call for help?”

  “I did—sort of. It wasn’t exactly my best moment. I was hoping it was a dream—a nightmare and that any minute I would wake up.”

  He wasn’t getting it. The cop probably swam like a fish.

  Kal jotted my tale of the beast who left me dangling. “It may have been the killer you saw. Can you describe this person?”

  “All I could see was Smokey Eyes. I didn’t get a look at their face.”

  “Smoky? I don’t get that.”

  “Smokey Eyes is not quite right but it’s the best description I can give. It’s a cosmetic expression. The eyes are sort of smudged, undone, unclear. You know—hazy.”

  “Why would this Smokey Eyed person leave you hanging?”

  “Maybe it was the killer afraid I’d witnessed the murder. Who else would walk away when I was pleading for my life?” I closed my lids trying to conjure up the eyeballs in the mist.

  “I might recognize them if I saw them again—the eyes. I understand that Starfish Cove doesn’t get fog in the afternoon but the non-fog was thick as clam chowder.”

  “But not the face?”

  “That’s what made it so creepy—I couldn’t see the face!”

  “Color of the eyes?”

  “Maybe gray. Maybe blue. Or light brown. Fog-colored.”

  “Would you recognize them if I arranged an eyeball lineup?”

  “All I can do is try.” It was my turn to quiz him. “Did Brent Toast have any enemies? He seemed like the kind of guy who thrived on being hated. You want me to ask around?”

  “The Toast family will bring pressure on the department. Keep your nose out of this investigation. Lizzy too!”

  He made a V with his index and middle fingers and pointed at his eyes and then at me. I didn’t need the I’ll be watching you sign flashed at me. All I wanted was to go home and soak in the tub.

  “After I get Lizzy’s statement I am ordering you both to get out of here.” He closed his notebook.

  His ordering me to do what I wanted to do spurred me to spur him. “I’m feeling rejected. You might need my help—again.”

  The muscles in his cheeks tightened. “Right now it’s Jaimie I’m interested in.”

  “Should I be jealous?” So easy to make him blush. “Don’t tell Jaimie I told you about her argument.”

  The Loud Mouth of the South could be trouble. She was a semi-friend—the kind you avoid crossing.

  “She’ll find out sooner or later,” he said.

  “Later is good. Much later is better.” I lowered my voice as a busboy walked past. “You forgot to ask me about the murder weapon.”

  “You saw it?”

  “When I first spotted Brent’s body there was a knife in his chest or neck—it was hard to tell with the water sloshing over him. When they brought him out of the water and onto the boat the knife was gone.”

  He stared at my lips—waiting.

  I wished I had more for him. “It was a big knife.” How lame was that?

  Kal sat down again and opened his notebook. “Describe the knife.”

  “I told you. It was big…and manly looking.”

  “A manly looking knife?” He looked up from his notepad and slowly shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  I closed my eyes trying to picture the weapon. “I only saw the handle. The rest of it was in Brent. It was black with ridges—the kind for gripping.”

  “If we can’t find the knife you’re going to have to meet with a sketch artist so concentrate on what the handle looked like. The medical examiner should be able give us an approximation of the blade. Meantime, wait right here for Lizzy.”

  “I was catching a second wind. Suddenly the hot bath didn’t seem nearly as inviting as digging into this mystery. “Finders, keepers. Since I found the body, you should reinstate my unofficial investigator status.”

  In a previous murder case K
al appointed me an off-the-record cop with no pay to take advantage of my experience as a psychologist. Not exactly a lofty position but it gave me snooping latitude. Something I hadn’t realized I needed until the corpse unleashed my inner Nancy Drew.

  He growled. “Just go home and stay out of my way!”

  If his horoscope called for him to be ornery today, it was spot on. I smiled sweetly and said, “When you realize you need me, I’m going to demand you double my pay.”

  Kal fought back a smile and stomped down the dock toward the gaggle of witnesses including unhappy boaters who looked hot, tired, thirsty, and in need of a potty break.

  Robbie appeared to be having trouble containing them. Sonny Angel’s Detroit accented voice dominated as he yelled what sounded like obscenities. Not smart. Cursing, especially at a cop, was a jail-able offense in Starfish Cove.

  Chief Hal stepped onto the deck of the Very Crabby and blew an air horn. The crowd turned silent.

  I wobbled from the Adirondack chair looking for my aunt and the used car salesman. Tillie and Antoine were nowhere in sight.

  Two guys in black polo shirts marked with the ME logo bounced a gurney down the dock toward the corpse.

  Not exactly the way Brent Toast would have chosen to leave the yacht club.

  Who made the choice for him?

  My inner Nancy Drew was going to be unsettled until she knew the answer. I slipped away from the chaos, headed toward my car, and spotted something that would arouse the suspicion of an inexperienced civilian let alone a blossoming sometimes unofficial investigator.

  An old guy appeared wearing a floppy canvas hat, a long sleeve vented fishing shirt, a tattered pair of cargo pants, and what could have been the first pair of boat shoes ever made. He was walking toward a fifteen-foot boat with a small outboard motor and a worn nylon half-top to provide shade. Definitely not a yacht club caliber vessel.

  He smiled at me through a gray unkempt beard as we neared each other. His smile seemed nice but killers smile too. I said, “Excuse me. Are you a member here?”