Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Box Set, page 7
part #1 of Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Series
“I know you had something to do with Haley King’s murder, Thomas,” he said flatly.
“Jesus,” Jillian gasped. “Are you serious right now, Ryan? Are you really going to stand there and tell me that you’re accusing my fiancé of a twenty-year-old murder because you’re mad at him?”
“It’s not because I’m mad at him, Jilly,” Ryan said. “I couldn’t care less about that jackass. It’s just that I know what happened. I saw it. I saw the damn letter, Thomas.”
“Letter?” Jillian asked. “What letter?”
“A letter he wrote to you,” Ryan said. “He called you ‘Pookiepie’.”
“He always calls me that,” she said. Then, with widening eyes, she asked, “You read our love letters? How dare you!”
“The date coincided to when we were still married, so I’m not so sure that you should be the one who feels betrayed about this, Jillian,” Ryan said. “But that’s neither here nor there, is it, Thomas?”
“What is he talking about?” Jillian asked.
“You’re not the first person he’s called that,” Ryan answered, looking over at Thomas. “You used that same disgusting name with Haley, didn’t you?”
“What?” Jillian asked, gasping again. “Thomas?”
Thomas looked at his soon-to-be bride and then at her ex-husband. “We were kids. We were all kids. I didn’t say anything because it didn’t matter. I didn’t want you to think it was a pattern.”
“You didn’t want me to think what was a pattern?” Jillian asked tepidly.
“When I started seeing Haley, she wasn’t single. In fact, she was—”
“You son of a bitch,” Ryan said, standing. Ryan’s rage went through the roof as he realized what was going on. Not only had this bastard broken up his marriage by sleeping with his wife, but he had also slept with his first girlfriend.
Ryan saw red as he lumbered toward the man. “You’re a piece of work, jackass,” he said. He didn’t even realize what he was doing as his fist pulled back and struck Thomas right in the eye.
The man fell backward, grunting as he slammed onto the floor.
“That,” Ryan said, huffing hard, “is how a man punches.”
Chapter Fifteen
Feeling as though he were back to square one in terms of his investigation, Detective Devereux decided to head home and get himself a good night’s rest. It was a cliché thing to say, but sometimes, it really did help in breaking an investigation. Much like anything else, police work needed time away from it, even if it was only a few hours in bed.
Aromatic sea air billowed up from the water, rising skyward like a tower from the ocean. Ryan Devereux always loved the way the night air smelled as it came in from the sea. To him, it was a smell unlike any other. Fresh, crisp, and salty, the many layers of the water unfolded in a way no perfume could ever hope to mimic. No matter the time of year, the temperature outside, or the how high the waves crashed, the water always smelled the same.
It was the smell of his home, the smell of saltwater mixing with freshwater. The stillness of the marsh as it met the land. South Carolina Lowcountry was a place unlike any other in every way. But in the stillness of the night, it was its unique fragrance that stood out most to Ryan.
Second Wind bobbed slightly in the choppy Atlantic waters that night. Hopefully that, combined with his pure exhaustion, would be enough to help him drift off easily, though somehow, he doubted it.
Stepping off the dock and into his houseboat, Ryan removed his shirt and tossed it on the bed, then made his way to the bathroom. As hot water washed over his tired body, Ryan thought about the last few days, about how much more difficult the already troubled relationship with his ex-wife had gotten. If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t her he was really concerned with. Sure, he still cared for the woman, but she’d made her decision and it seemed she was pretty adamant about sticking with it.
What bothered him the most was the thought that his own troubled relationship may affect his daughter, who at this moment was the most important thing in his life. Knowing that in her home, she was in no direct physical danger was a relief, yes. But that still left the man worried about her emotional state. She was old enough to put the pieces together when her father suddenly stopped showing up for dinner. No longer could he pretend she was a child and that such things would go over her head. Now, he knew better.
“God . . .” he muttered to himself. “I hope she understands how much I love her. How difficult this is for me.”
Stepping out of the shower and pulling on a pair of sweatpants, Ryan sat on his bed, then looked over at his dresser. Perched at the end of his bar was the small box given to him by Foggy King, the one he referred to as a ‘boyfriend box’. In the drama of the last few days, he hadn’t actually taken the time to look inside, but with his nerves running too high to sleep, he figured now was as good a time as any.
The box was about six inches wide and four inches deep, with chipped edges and a bow and arrow embossed in gold paint on its lid. Ryan held it in his hand for a few minutes, looking it over and trying to remember if he’d ever seen it. But try as he might, the damn thing just didn’t look familiar.
He opened it. First, he spotted a small porcelain unicorn, one with its foot held outward. It was a small thing, only about four inches wide, but it looked well-made and probably expensive at one time. He picked it up and held it in his hands. It was heavy, with a brightly painted rainbow mane and a metallic gold horn. It reminded him of Haley, not only because he knew it had once belonged to her, but because of how beautiful and delicate she must have found it.
Haley King was always the type to notice the small things, the little bits of character that made things unique and different. She did this no matter where they were, in small cafes, in the woods, on the beach, even noticing Ryan Devereux’s eyes. It was true. In his right eye, right there in the middle of the bright blue lay a small brown fleck no bigger than the head of a pin.
She’d noticed it once when they found themselves on the beaches of Sullivan’s Island watching the sunrise. Even though Ryan himself had never really noticed the small imperfection, Haley decided right then and there that it was an important part of who he was, the little thing that made him different from any other blue-eyed boy.
She’d even pointed the imperfection out to the young boy’s momma, who told him it was just another little something that made him unique. He’d been so embarrassed when they’d sit around the porch late at night talking about him, about how handsome he was, how sweet and kind he was, and how much they both loved him.
Such things made him uncomfortable to no end. Uncle Pauley taught him to be a man’s man, that flattery and the like were things only women took part in, which is why any time the two would start down that road, he’d make himself scarce, at least for a little while.
But keeping away from Haley usually proved to be a difficult task. Not twenty minutes would go by before Ryan would inevitably come walking back around the corner with a big smile on his face. He’d grab the young girl’s hand and run, laughing all the way until finally getting far enough away from the watchful eyes of his momma to steal a kiss.
He placed the unicorn on the dresser and continued through the box. Trinkets, seven more in all, made up the rest of its contents. Each one was a different type of animal, all porcelain, all similar in size and color. He placed them back in the box, closed it, and lay his head back, hoping the swaying Atlantic waters would lull him to sleep.
But like they say about the best-laid plans . . . Ryan heard a noise coming from the upper deck of his boat. Assuming at first that it was just his Uncle Pauley, he turned to his side and closed his eyes again.
A loud crash soon followed, echoing down the stairs and into his bedroom. He leapt to his feet, grabbed his gun, slid on a pair of sneakers, and made his way up the stairs. Just as his head rose up from the bottom level, a shot rang out in his direction. A bullet zoomed by, narrowly missing his head and busting through the fiberglass railing of his boat.
“Hold it. Charleston Police!” he yelled, then popped his head up.
In the far corner, his uncle Pauley lay wounded, blood puddling under him. Ryan quickly shot a couple of rounds toward the hooded figure standing next to his uncle. Then, like a flash, the man was gone, leaving Pauley wounded on the floor of his nephew’s houseboat.
“Pauley!” Ryan cried out, running to his side.
“He shot me . . .” Pauley said.
Careful not to move him too much, Ryan searched for the entry wound, running his hands around his uncle’s chest and neck until finally finding it near his right shoulder. “I think it’s a flesh wound,” Ryan said, instinctively reaching for his phone and realizing it wasn’t there. “Hold on! I’m going to call someone!”
Even though his training told him it was only a flesh wound and that his uncle would be okay, he still couldn’t stop his mind and heart from racing. Pauley had been a part of his life for so long that the thought of not having him around now seemed almost too much to bear.
Detective Devereux ran back downstairs, then to his surprise he was greeted with another round of bullets firing toward him. Quickly diving to the floor and taking cover behind his bed, Ryan fired off a shot of his own, striking the man through the leg. Yelling out in pain, the figure quickly headed out the rear door of Ryan’s boat and up the stairs, vanishing into the darkness.
Grabbing his phone and dialing help, the detective noticed something odd. The small box on his dresser seemed to have been rifled through. On the floor just below the dresser lay the small unicorn statue, its leg chipped and its horn broken clean off. Aside from that, there seemed to be a few things missing.
What he was sure he’d counted as eight small porcelain trinkets were now only four.
“911, what is your emergency?” the operator said.
Chapter Sixteen
“How you feeling?” Ryan asked, stepping into his uncle’s room at Roper St. Francis Hospital.
He’d been there a few times over the last year after meeting one of the nurses while strolling Market Street. She was a pretty thing with sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, and a sweet little smile. Their first night out, she took him wine tasting, which, if he was being honest, wasn’t his favorite thing in the world. But they’d managed to hit it off well enough to go out a few more times before Ryan had decided to end things.
She was a great girl, sure. But he couldn’t help but get the feeling she was looking for something a little more serious than he was ready for at the moment. In the beginning, he wasn’t sure he’d remember which floor she worked, but after stepping off the elevator, he realized it was the same one his uncle was on.
Due to years of working and drinking in the southern heat, Pauley wasn’t in the best physical condition, so to assume he’d be spending the next few days in the hospital seemed like a pretty fair bet. Which is why the detective doubted he’d make it through that much time without running across Michelle at least once.
“Oh, yeah,” Pauley said, coughing and hacking as though he were trying to get up a furball. “I’m feeling just fine.”
He wasn’t sure if the man was serious or trying to be coy. Either way, the truth was written all over him. Pauley Wells was once a beast of a man, strong and loud, with enough energy to put that little pink bunny from the commercials to shame. But now, after all these Lowcountry years, he was a different person. A weaker person.
“You need to start taking care of yourself,” Ryan said, sitting on the chair beside his uncle. “Otherwise, you won’t be around much longer.”
“I’m strong.” Pauley smiled. “I’ll make it.”
“Everyone makes it until they don’t,” Ryan replied. “You’re alive until you’re not. After that . . . you’re just gone. You need to start taking care of yourself.”
“Tell me there, Sonny,” his uncle said, tugging at the wires taped to his chest. “Were you on television this morning punching out your wife, or was that the morphine I was seeing?”
“No,” Ryan answered. “That was me. Though I wasn’t punching my ex-wife.”
“No,” her unmistakable voice spoke from behind him. “It was actually the other way around.”
“Well . . .” Pauley struggled, trying his best to sit up. “Look what the waves washed in. Hello, pretty lady.” He smiled, extending his arms and hugging Jillian.
“Pauley.” She smiled, wrapping her arms around him.
“We brought you something,” Carly said, holding up a gift bag.
Maybe it was because her own family was such a mess, or maybe the two just naturally clicked. But for whatever reason, Pauley and Jillian had always seemed to think the world of one another, still speaking every week even though she was no longer married to his nephew. But isn’t that ‘too friendly to be mean’ attitude just like a Southern girl?
“Really?” Pauley put on a wide-eyed smile. “What is it?” He tore through the bag like a mole through a garden. “Hey . . . sunglasses.”
“I picked them myself.” Carly grinned. “Do you like them?”
“I love them,” he said, hugging her tightly.
In all the years he’d known his uncle, Ryan Devereux had never once seen him wear or heard him mention sunglasses. And he doubted this was the day that would change. But he knew how to be nice, how to accept a gift for the thought and nothing else. It was that thoughtful attitude that provided a shoulder for Jillian to lean on through those early days of Ryan’s marriage to her.
Leaning back against the wall and watching the way his uncle spoke to his wife and daughter made Ryan miss the days when that sort of thing was ordinary. They rambled on for what seemed like an hour, talking about everything but which way the wind was blowing.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure standing in the doorway, staring at him. Feeling almost unnerved for a moment, he turned to see Michelle Myers, the spritely nurse he’d dated a few months before. A crooked grin rested on her face as her eyes glimmered with something close to excitement.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he muttered, though not loud enough to actually draw any looks.
“Long time no see,” Michelle said as he stepped into the hallway.
“Yeah . . .” Ryan answered. “I’ve been kind of busy with everything. You know?”
“I saw you on the news this morning.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the streetfighter type.”
“It was just a misunderstanding. A simple misunderstanding . . .”
Only since standing this close to her did Ryan realize how much he missed this. It wasn’t so much the girl. Sure, she was sweet, cute, and everything any guy would love. What he missed was having someone to talk to, someone he shared a spark with, the kind that you feel in conversation. The kind that’s evident even for onlookers.
“How are things going with you?” she asked. “Dating anyone?”
“No,” he answered. “What about you?”
“Once upon a time . . .” She ran a hand through her hair. “But he moved away. Now, I’m all alone. Footloose and fancy free.”
“Really?” Ryan answered. “Good to know.”
There was a part of him that wanted to reach out and grab the girl, to hold her in his arms and ask her out. But he didn’t. He held back. It wouldn’t be fair to her to ask her to come back to a relationship he wasn’t sure had any future. It was obvious to Ryan that he was ready to move on, but it was just much less obvious with whom he wanted to do it.
“That’s me.” She pointed to a small speaker on the ceiling.
A series of three soft dings rang out through the long white hallway. Michelle turned on her heels and with a big smile walked back toward the reception desk.
“She’s cute,” Jillian said from behind him.
He turned to see his ex-wife leaned against the doorframe. He wondered how long she’d been standing there and how much she’d heard. Did he sound like an idiot, like a hot-to-trot adolescent looking for his first hookup? Lord, he hoped not. Though in truth, that would be one of the lesser embarrassing things Jillian had seen him do over the years.
“Yeah,” he answered. “She’s a sweet girl. But I’m actually glad you came. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jillian asked. “And what’s that?”
“I need you to leave,” he replied, shuffling his feet just a little. “I want you to get out of Charleston for a little while.”
“Ryan,” she said, rolling her head back a little. “Is that really necess—”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “It really is. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, these threats won’t amount to anything, but just in case, just on the off chance whoever is behind this tries to hurt me . . . I can’t risk having Carly caught up in that. I can’t risk either of you.”
“I appreciate that. I really do,” she responded. “But I think we’ll be okay.”
“Hopefully.” He stepped closer to her. “But you can only be wrong about that once. I need you to be right about it every day. And right now, the best chance of that happening is for you to leave Lowcountry.”
The words cut into him more than he thought they would. Yes, sending his daughter away was the wise thing to do, but that didn’t mean it was an easy thing to do. Watching his little girl walk away would tear at his heart in a way nothing else ever had. He knew that, and while he was sure he wasn’t ready for the pain, he knew what needed to be done.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, pulling Carly aside.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he answered, wrapping his hands around her thin upper arms. “You and your mom are gonna go on a little trip. I need you to promise me that you’ll listen to her. That you’ll do what she asks and stay by her side.”
