Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Box Set, page 16
part #1 of Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Series
“Oh, yes,” Pauley said, a slow look of happiness stretching across his face. You can always tell when people get lost in their memories, when they just lean back a little and let the past have its moment. Ryan could almost see his uncle’s mouth begin to water as he thought back to the catfish sandwiches he’d once eaten. The days when no one had cell phones at the table and the only thing people spoke about was the meal itself. “I used to go by there every once in a while. Sweet girl.”
“Do you remember anything about her death?”
“Her husband.” Pauley didn’t skip a beat. “They were separated at the time, but his fingerprints were all over that crime scene.”
“David Wyler,” Ryan answered, thinking back to the case file. “He had a rock-solid alibi.”
“He didn’t murder her.” Pauley looked at his nephew. “He loved the woman. They was just never meant to be married, that’s all. But he wouldn’t have hurt her. He built her that diner and he did the maintenance, so of course his prints were everywhere.”
“You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself,” Ryan said, drying out the last of the dishes and placing them back on the countertop. “This whole staying up all night and drinking crap isn’t going to work.”
“I told you, boy. That’s not what I was doing.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Ryan lifted a stack of papers from the corner desk and began flipping through it. Inside were a list of all the things his uncle wasn’t supposed to do or eat after his heart attack. Things like greasy foods, alcohol, sweet tea, and eggs, among other things. “Sex.” Ryan placed the papers back on the desk. “You’re not supposed to do that either. Not for two weeks.”
“Don’t worry!” A voice suddenly echoed through the room. “He won’t be doing that!”
In walked Tammy Hart, an old friend of Ryan’s uncle and the woman the hospital papers listed as his accompaniment to the emergency room. She was with Pauley the night of his attack. It was she who . . .
“He’ll be sticking to that list like a feather to a chicken,” she snapped. “And look here, I brought some spinach and beets. I thought I’d make dinner.”
Pauley scoffed. “What can you make from spinach and beets?”
“Just that!” Tammy snapped back. “Spinach and beets! It’s the appetizer, the entrée, and the dessert. And you’re eating it, come hell or high water! I’ve done spent too much time getting right with the Lord to let your death stain my good record!”
Ryan chuckled. “All right. I think I’m done here.” A bright smile washed over his face as he watched the woman spring into action the way only a God-fearing Southerner could. “I’m gonna go.”
“Sure you don’t want to stay a while?” Pauley asked, his eyes wider than quarters.
“Nah,” Ryan said, closing the door behind him. “I’m good.”
Chapter Four
Both beautiful and diverse in almost every way, Folly Island, South Carolina had long been one of Ryan Devereux’s favorite Lowcountry spots. A rich history, great food, and more beautiful beaches than you could shake a stick at, Folly was often referred to as ‘the edge of America’ by its locals. To Ryan, the name was fitting. Standing on the beautiful white sand shores and staring out at the cool Atlantic waters seemed to have a certain power over him. It almost seemed that, if you let it, the water could change you just like it changed the shore.
He’d only eaten at BLU once before, and while it was delicious, Ryan himself found the crowd to be a little too ‘on’ for his taste. Sure, there was something to be said for eating with the in-crowd, for dressing up in an uncomfortable suit and pretending to enjoy the fancy dishes. But for Ryan, it just never felt genuine. Give him a mixed drink and some fresh oysters any day of the week.
“You look lovely,” he said as Michelle Myers entered the room. The once on-again, off-again relationship seemed to be headed down a more serious path as of late, which for Ryan was a welcome change.
There’d just always been something about the thought of moving on to a new relationship before his ex-wife did that rubbed him the wrong way. But with her wedding just around the corner, he hardly saw the harm in it anymore. It’s not as if sitting around his houseboat and feeling lonely were going to somehow help her, anyway.
“Thanks,” she said, tilting her head a little and giving a sweet smile. A short strand of curls fell down the side of her face. It seemed she was letting her hair grow back out just a little after the pixie cut she’d been rocking lately. “You look nice too. I love that jacket.”
“I appreciate that,” Ryan answered, tugging at his blue velvet sport-coat. He’d gotten it as a gift from Jillian, his ex-wife, on their last anniversary. While he’d have rather not worn something that reminded him of her on a date, he still couldn’t deny it was one of the nicer garments he owned. “Please.” He pulled out her chair. “Sit.”
A long black dress flowed almost to the floor, revealing her tanned leg in its high slit as she sat down. Her lips, plump and red, glistened in the light of the moon as it shone through the large windows facing the water. She opened her menu, slowly scanning the selections. Ryan looked around the room, noticing the looks she received from men. They were slight, and truth be told, Michelle herself didn’t even seem to notice, but Ryan did. He couldn’t help it.
He smiled at his companion. “People are staring at you again.”
“It’s the dress,” she said, cutting her eyes up at him. “You’d be surprised how many heads are turned by a pretty dress.”
“It’s not the dress. It’s the woman wearing it.”
“Please,” she said, the sweetest half-smile flashing across her lovely lips. “You don’t have to flatter me. I’m already pretty sold on this thing.”
“It wasn’t flattery. It was the truth.” Her words, ‘sold on this thing,’ echoed heavily in his ears. He’d been enjoying his time with the woman, yes. He’d also come to the realization that his feelings for her were growing stronger. He just wasn’t sure she felt the same way.
“Well, whatever it was, thank you,” she said. “So. The Karen Wyler case, huh?” They hadn’t spoken of his current investigation, but the fact that she knew about it didn’t surprise him in the least.
“Yeah,” he said. “A tip came in from this guy up in Columbia after this whole Twitter thing. A prisoner. He says he has information.”
“A prisoner,” she said, swishing her chardonnay around in her hand and placing her nose above the glass. “Can you trust their words?”
“It depends,” he replied. “There are a few different kinds of tips. The ones from people who want something in return, the ones from people who are just trying to do some good, and the crazies, the ones who are just lying for fun.”
“People do that?” Michelle gave a low sigh. “To what end?”
“To no end, really. They’re just looking for attention, I guess.”
An hour and a half, two steaks, a few sides, and a bottle of chardonnay later, the two found themselves walking along the sand of Folly Beach. Michelle held her black high heels in her hands and Ryan his navy leather wingtips. The moonlight framed her face wonderfully, the soft glow of her light hair sending chills down his arm as the two walked hand-in-hand.
The beach was empty, for the most part, anyway. But as they strolled further up the coast, a faint blue light began growing stronger and stronger with each step through the sand. The pulsating glow bounced across the dark Atlantic waters, getting lost in the distant fog of the late evening. There was something wrong.
“What’s going on?” Michelle gasped, looking out at the small gathering crowd.
“I don’t know,” Ryan replied. “Come on.” He squeezed Michelle’s hand tighter and began running toward the police cars.
There on the beach were a large SUV, three police officers from the Folly Beach Police Department, and quite a few spectators. On the ground lay a woman with dark hair and light features. Ryan guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, likely a local due to the late hour and off-the-beaten-path area of the beach where she lay.
“What happened here?” Ryan asked an officer.
“Sir,” the officer replied. He looked to be about ten years younger than Ryan, with brown eyes and a muscular physique. His deep voice and strong hands pressed hard against the detective as he pushed him back. “Please. Stay behind the line.”
“I’m a detective,” Ryan replied. “With Charleston County. Ryan Devereux.”
“I’m afraid this is a Folly Island issue, at least for now. But thank you for offering.”
“Is she okay? Was she attacked?” Ryan tried his best to peer through the small crowd.
“Sir,” the muscular man said. “I’m going to have to ask you again. Please stay behind the line.”
Moments later, three men lifted the young woman onto a gurney, then began wheeling her toward a waiting ambulance. Still curious, Ryan stepped closer, trying his best to see what happened. She looked weak, and maybe a little spaced out. But as far as the detective could tell, she had no visible wounds, no sign of trauma, nothing.
She was wet, soaked to the core. That much was evident. Maybe she’d fallen from a boat, though he didn’t see anyone who looked like a friend or family, the kind of people you’d find on a nighttime boating trip. She was alone, surrounded by onlookers, but none of them seemed to know her. She was alone and scared.
Ryan stepped closer. Her face and hair dripped with saltwater. Her eyes were puffed out and red as if she’d been crying. Even though she was silent, even though her eyes were closed, the detective still felt pain and sadness emanating from her small frame. Her heart was broken, that much he knew. He just didn’t know why.
Moonlight, soft and bright, shone down on her. Then, almost as if on cue, her eyes fluttered open as the ambulance doors started to swing closed.
“Karen Wyler,” the young woman said after seeing Ryan next to the doors.
“Excuse me?” Ryan said, not totally sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
“Sir,” the officer said, stepping closer, his large, imposing body only a few feet away from Ryan. “Please, keep your distance. Otherwise—”
“I’m good,” Ryan answered.
Watching the ambulance drive away, Ryan thought about the young woman. It made sense she’d have known about his involvement in the cold case, but that wasn’t what struck his nerve. There was something else in her tone, in the way her eyes focused on him. It was almost as if . . .
“What happened to her?” Michelle asked, placing her hand on Ryan’s arm.
“I think she was trying to tell me something.”
“About what?” Michelle asked.
“About my case,” Ryan answered. “About Karen Wyler.”
Chapter Five
Spending an hour sitting in a place like Big River Correctional Institute wasn’t high on Ryan Devereux’s list of wants, but visiting criminals in jail was just part of the job, no matter how much he disliked it. While he’d never actually been to the place before, he was immediately put off by the strong smell of urine wafting through the air and the less than sparkling floors. People were in places like this because they’d done something wrong, yes. But something told the detective this wasn’t the best-handled prison in the state.
Dim lighting did its best to fill the room, though it wasn’t strong enough to make it all the way into the dark corners. Sticky linoleum covered the floor under his and Kit’s feet, screeching through the room as the soles of their shoes pulled away. A metal table, small and cold, sat perched under the light, and on the other side of it sat the inmate he’d come to see.
Daniel Mathis was a career criminal and had been since his early teens. First getting arrested for shoplifting a home stereo system, he quickly escalated to grand theft auto and eventually, murder. His record was littered page to page with every kind of crime someone could be associated with, which made trusting his word a difficult thing to do.
But it wasn’t his record that shocked the two detectives. It was his appearance. No more than five and a half feet tall and perhaps one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. The man was about half the size of what Ryan had been expecting. His light blond hair sat perfectly coiffed down the side of his face and his hazel green eyes seemed to reflect the dim light better than even the metal table.
“Hello, Detectives,” he said, smiling widely. “So wonderful of you to stop by.”
“This isn’t a social visit,” Kit answered. “You have information. We’re here to collect it. Get talking.” Her words were straightforward and to the point, likely from her New Jersey upbringing that lacked that certain Southern charm of her partner.
“Tsk, tsk . . .” Daniel shook his head. “Not even a simple pleasantry? Just what would your momma say?”
“You asked to speak with the detective handling the Karen Wyler case,” Ryan said. “That’s me—us.” He looked at Kit. There seemed to be a distance between the two lately, like a river he wasn’t sure where to cross. Only . . . he didn’t know why.
“Snitch!” Daniel snapped. “I’ll be your snitch! Give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.”
“And what is it you want?” Ryan asked.
“I want out of this hellhole,” The inmate said, a frantic look falling over his eyes. “I want to move to somewhere better. Colorado or something. And I want less time. I want ten years taken off my sentence!”
“That’s ridiculous!” Kit sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “You haven’t given us a single piece of information and you’re already making requests. Maybe start by telling us something worth hearing. Maybe then, you’ll get out of here.”
It was obvious to him that there was something on his partner’s mind, something more than their cold case and something more than Daniel Mathis’s irritating demeanor. Kit was worried, distant, and aggravated. Suddenly, for Ryan Devereux, there was another case he needed to crack.
“She was strangled,” Daniel said, his teeth grinding.
“That’s not enough.” Ryan turned his focus back to the inmate. “You could have seen or read that anywhere.”
“She was beaten with a hammer.” He leaned in, his blond hair holding tight to its perfect style. “A green wooden-handled hammer. And on the way out, the murderer knocked over a vase of daisies. They fell to the floor right next to the window, the one he climbed from before almost being eaten by a gator.”
“Okay,” Kit said. “You’ve got our attention. Keep going.”
“Not until I know I’m out of here.”
“If the information proves accurate, we’ll see about getting you moved. But until then, it’s just gossip,” Ryan clarified. “And by the way, where was it you heard this gossip, exactly?”
“I bet she was a sight.” Daniel’s lip curled as his finger began to drum the table. “With that black string tied into a pretty little bow around her neck like that.”
“The information.” Kit leaned in just enough to cast a light shadow across Daniel’s face. “Where did you get it?”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Kit looked at her partner.
“How else would he have gotten so much information about the case?” Ryan replied, pulling the car to a stop.
“What are we doing?” Kit asked, looking around.
“I thought maybe you could use a drink.”
The White Oyster sat just a few miles outside Charleston County. Known across the state as the freshest oysters east of the Mississippi, the place was always packed to the rafters with locals and tourists alike. But as much as he loved the food, it wasn’t too often that Ryan actually made it this far out of town, preferring to stick near the docks. But it was hard to pass up the opportunity to get a taste of those delicious oysters.
But honestly, that was only secondary to the main reason the detective felt the need to stop by and grab a drink. If something really was going on with his partner, then he wanted to know or at least tell her he was willing to listen. After all, it would be simply un-Southern to let the woman stew in her own emotions without so much as a gentle inquiry.
“Okay,” Ryan said, sitting at the bar. “I know something is going on. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t,” Kit answered. “It’s not much of anything, really. It’s just me being emotional for no reason.” Her words were heavy in the air, as if the struggle of actually saying them exhausted her.
‘Shadows of the night’ played softly in the background, filling the silence between them, thought it still wasn’t enough to block out the sound of his partner’s heavy sigh as she threw back a shot of apple whiskey. The song reminded Ryan of his youth, of the girls who used to sing it in the hallways of Fort Johnson Middle School. He rarely thought about that time in his life, but even after all the years, he could almost smell the eraser dust in the air. He missed it in a way, but it wasn’t the time to think of that.
“It’s something,” Ryan answered. “I won’t press you, but just know I’m here if you need to say anything. Or we can sit here in silence for an hour. Whatever floats your boat.”
“I left him.” She bit the edge of her lip. “I decided it was too much before it even happened. It shouldn’t bother me that he moved on first.”
“You were engaged?” Ryan asked. For the most part, Kit’s time in New Jersey was a mystery to him. She’d mentioned small things, like which borough she lived in. But things as personal as relationships had always managed to keep themselves off the table. But just like everything else, Kit’s secrets began to sweat in the Carolina heat.
“I was almost engaged,” she answered. “I ended things before he got the chance to actually ask.”
“How do you know he was going to ask?”
“He’d already bought the ring.” There was a sadness in her voice, something that stopped the detective from pursuing it further. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d let his partner know he was there if she needed anything. And for now, that was enough.
