Coastal Cottage Calamity (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 2) (4 page)

I ran past them
and across the sandbank and there was Oliver Gibbons. Laying across the shoal
right where it started at the shore, half of face down in the shallow waters of
the Savannah. His legs splayed, straw hat sitting askew, the other half of face
glistening from sweat. His head was lying near a rock, one arm over his it. The
other hand laid at an odd angle at his side. His ever present e-cigarette still
clutched in his hand. A lumpy, gooey, wet pool of something laid next to him.

I reached down to
rouse him, check his pulse. See if I could help him somehow.

“Don’t.” Miss
Vivee said walking up to me. “He’s dead.”

Koryn screamed
again.

Chapter Five

A man was lying
dead and they were having a pissing contest. At least that’s what Miss Vivee
called it.

Sheriff Lloyd
Haynes, the only law enforcement officer in Yasamee, didn’t want to give in to
the other guy’s jurisdictional claims. The “other guy” was Tom Bowlen from the
Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

“I’m telling you,
Lloyd. This is government property,” Tom said. “That means it’s federal jurisdiction.
And that means the FBI, whether you like it or not.”

I took in a
breath. Bay.

My heart did a
flip of joy.

Maybe Bay would
get the assignment. Then he’d come to Yasamee. My smile grew as I thought about
seeing him.

“What are you
smiling about, Missy?” Miss Vivee smacked my arm. “Oliver’s dead.” She pointed
to his body. I saw she had a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Bay might be
coming,” I whispered. “I am sad about Oliver. Just was thinking about Bay.”

Wait. It probably
still wasn’t good to be happy, he was coming because of a dead man.

“Sorry,” I said.

“And I’m telling
you,” Sheriff Haynes was talking, jabbing his finger at the FBI’s liaison. “That
part of the shoal he’s lying across is in my jurisdiction.” He stopped pointing
at the liaison and pointed to the ground surrounding Oliver.

“I’ve gotta map
right here, Lloyd.” Tom shook it in front of him. “All you gotta do is take a
look.”

“I’m not looking
at anything. And stop calling me Lloyd. Show some respect.” Sheriff Haynes turned
his back on the liaison and beckoned his make shift medical team – the town’s
midwife and the only two ambulance drivers in Yasamee. They came equipped with a
black body bag and a gurney and went into action on the Sheriff’s cue.

“I’ma accompany
them up to Augusta with Oliver’s body so we can get an autopsy.” Sheriff Haynes
directed his statement toward the liaison but didn’t look at him.

“You’re not moving
that body, Lloyd,” Tom said ignoring the Sheriff’s directive not to call him
that. “Not until the FBI agents get here.” He spread his suit jacket back and
placed his hands on his hip to reveal his holstered gun.

“I ain’t afraid of
a gun, Tom. Or of you, for that matter.”

“Don’t want you to
be afraid,” he spoke in a calming voice and with a hint of a smile on his face.
“Just want you not to touch the body.”

Sheriff Haynes
took in a breath and blew it out noisily through his nose. “Everybody move
back,” he yelled. He did have authority over the small crowd that had gathered
when news got out about Oliver. “Move back. Give us room. We gotta a job to do
here.”

Miss Vivee sat in her
chair. She’d taken off the two pairs of glasses she’d worn all morning – her
sunglasses sitting on top of her prescription glasses and squinted against the
sun to watch. Mac standing behind her, she seemed to take note of everything
that was going on. And every now and then she’d let her eyes drift over the
body. I went and stooped next to her.

“How did you find
the body?” I asked and placed my hand on her arm. “Were you trying to walk over
the shoal to get back?”

“No,” she said.
“Koryn had left for a bit, and when she headed back I guess she passed him. She
let out that scream she does and Mac and I came to see what was wrong. We got
here just before you did.” She nodded toward the liaison. “Mac called 911 on
Koryn’s phone while she was screaming.”

That very loud
scream of hers was probably all the Sheriff needed
, I thought. I had
heard it all the way on the other side of the small Island. It might have
reverberated across Yasamee.

I studied Miss
Vivee still worried. I’d never seen her sad, although she was still being her
usual stubborn self. I tried to get her to leave and she wouldn’t. She said
that Oliver needed her there to make sure things went okay.

I looked over at
Oliver still lying there. All that was missing was a chalk outline. Renmar and
Brie arrived in short order, which I thought at first was good, I figured they
could both help Miss Vivee. But no sooner than they arrived, they both were
hysterical. They couldn’t even help themselves.

I remembered that
once Miss Vivee told me that Oliver was practically family. He had dated Brie
at some point, but what she seemed most proud of was the weaving of their
relation through history and marriage. She had told me that Oliver was related
through slavery to Hazel Cobb, and Hazel Cobb related to Renmar because she’d
married Hazel’s cousin Louis Colquett. At any rate, it was a sad scene at the
shoal that night.

The sun was low in
the sky by the time they wrapped up at the crime scene. Everyone else had left
or was instructed to leave by the sheriff or the FBI’s liaison. But no one
could get Miss Vivee to leave. Not until they were finished. And if she was
staying, I told them, so was I.

Oliver’s body was
going to have to be transported to be autopsied. No one in Yasamee could do it.
But by the time everything was straightened out between local and federal
authorities and the place secured, it was too late to get Oliver’s body
anywhere. He was put in the one door freezer at the mortuary until the next
morning when it could travel.

Chapter Six

The Maypop was dark
and quiet.

The dining room, usually
buzzing with people and pies at this time of day was empty and all the lights
were off. The place almost looked abandoned. The bed and breakfast only served
breakfast and dessert, except on Fridays when they served lunch. Renmar’s
famous (she’s won awards) bouillabaisse was one of the favorites on the menu
and the medium sized dining area had waiting room only.

It appeared that Renmar
and Brie had secured themselves to their part of the house because when I got
Miss Vivee home from the island, no one was around.

“I know you must
be tired,” I said to Miss Vivee as we walked into the house. I flipped on the
light switch on the wall by the front door.

“Don’t,” Miss
Vivee said. “Just leave the lights off. I’m sure no one will be stopping by. No
one in town is in the mood for blueberry pie or peach cobbler. Everyone is too
sad about Oliver.”

And that sadness
was etched in Miss Vivee’s face. Her wrinkles sagged more, the brightness of
her blue eyes seemed faded.

“I’m so sorry
about Oliver, Miss Vivee.”

“Me too,” she said
and smiled at me. She touched my arm. “Will you help me get to my room? I feel
so tired.”

“Sure,” I said.

Miss Vivee was
always so full of energy. She was up with the sun, and kept going – working in
her greenhouse tending to her herbs and plants she used for healing, or helping
Renmar in the kitchen – all day. She’d go to bed around nine, but quite often
I’d seen her up grabbing a snack out of the kitchen even as late as eleven.

I put her
umbrella, folding chair and picnic basket on the counter in the foyer and
extended my bent arm for her to take. She held onto it and walked much slower
than usual to her room. There I helped her get undressed and into bed.

“You want me to
make you some tea?” I asked.

“No,” she said.
“Just hand me that box of tissue. I think I’m going to have to cry this out of me.”
Then she looked at me. “You know sometimes it’s okay to cry. You don’t have to
be strong all the time.”

“I know, Miss
Vivee,” I said. “My mother is big on crying. She cries about everything with no
shame or concern about who sees her.” I smiled at her.

“I like your
mother,” she said pulling back the covers and climbing into bed. “I can’t wait
to meet her.”

“She’ll love you,”
I said. I tucked her in and headed for the door.

“Before you leave,
would you draw the curtains?”

“Sure.”

“And then close
the door behind you.”

I too felt bad
about Oliver, but after leaving Miss Vivee’s room for some reason that fish I’d
found earlier that day popped into my mind.

What was it doing
on that Island?

Chapter Seven

There was a jangle
of the bell over the front door and a “Hello.” The florid man that entered had
a bulbous nose and sweat was dripping off his face. He attempted to walk up to
the counter where Brie sat, but Cat, who had stood on all four as soon as the
man walked through the double oak doors, starting jumping up and down barking.

Miss Vivee hadn’t
been exactly right, people didn’t necessarily want blueberry pie and peach
cobbler but they were interested in stopping by the Maypop – everyone curious
about what happened to Oliver. She’d gotten up from her nap and the dining room
was buzzing with people keeping Renmar and Brie busy.

 “Whoa there,
little doggie,” the man said. A woman, pulling a suitcase behind her followed him
in. She smiled as she watched the scene. Staying clear of it, she seemed to enjoy
Cat’s dislike for her companion.

“Hi,” Brie said
with a smile. “How can I help y’all?”

“Can you get the
dog?” he asked and adjusted the garment back he had slung over his shoulder. Cat
was still barking and added a few snarls and bearing of teeth to his exhibition.
She yelped so hard that it was making her go backwards.

“Momma,” Brie
said. “Get, Cat.”

“That’s no cat,”
the man said. “The little fellow seems like a man eater.”

“Cute dog,” the woman
said, which made the man hiss at her.

“Hush your fuss,
Cat,” Miss Vivee said and beckoned the dog to her. “C’mere girl.” Cat gave one
more growl toward the man and leapt up onto Miss Vivee’s lap. “Good girl.”

The man gave one
more look over his shoulder, stuffed his shirt back down his pants, tugging
them over his large pot-belly. He tugged at his nearly too little suit jacket.
He gave the woman behind him a look before smoothing his hair and walking the
remaining distance to the counter.

“We’d like to get
a room,” he said, his smile looked disingenuous. “Hope that dog won’t be a
problem though. I don’t want to pay good money just to be terrorized by a
mutt.”

“She’s no mutt,”
Miss Vivee said. “Pure Scottish terrier. She just doesn’t like hooligans.”

“Miss Vivee,” I
whispered. “Be nice.”

“No. The dog won’t
be a problem.” Brie’s usually sweet voice now mimicked her mother’s seemingly
general displeasure with the man. “She usually isn’t so boisterous,” she said
muttering the quasi apology.

“Okay then. One room
then. King size bed if you have it. For me and my wife, Charlotte,” he said and
pointed to the woman at his rear.

“Charlie,” the
woman offered.

“Charlotte,” he
emphasized, “is Oliver Gibbons’ cousin. You know him?” He leaned forward and
peered into the dining room glancing around it. From where I stood at the end
of the counter, I saw everyone stop and take notice of the man’s remarks. “We
were told that on most days we could find him here if he wasn’t at home,” he
said.

“He wasn’t home,”
Charlie/Charlotte added.

“That’s obvious,
Charlotte,” her husband said, dismissing her comment. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be
here looking for him.”

“Who told you
that?” Brie asked her bottom lip starting to tremble. “Who told you that’d he
be here?”

“He did, of
course,” the man’s answer was almost indignant.

Then you could
almost feel the shudder that came in a wave from the guests eating in the
dining room.

 Renmar walked
into the foyer. She’d evidently been listening to the conversation. “Cousins?” She
stood with perfect posture, her nose slightly tilted in the air. Invading his
personal space, she stood defensively, her eyes darting from one to the other,
she sized up the pair. “I didn’t know he had any cousins,” she said letting her
southern drawl take over.

“We’re distant
cousins,” the man said. “Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”

Charlotte nodded
her head.

“We haven’t seen
him in about twenty years. Thought we’d come on out and pay him a visit,” the
man put on a smile, certainly a dubious one that showed bad teeth. “We’ll
probably stay at his beach house,” he said. “Once we figure everything out, but
we’ll just get a room here until then.”

“I’m Renmar
Colquett,” she said. “This is my sister, Brie.” She pointed to Brie and then
over to Miss Vivee. “And our mother, Mrs. Pennywell. We own the Maypop. And we
were very good friends of Oliver’s.”

“Were?” the man
said and lifted an eyebrow.

“What’s your
name?” Renmar asked and turned an ear indicating she was listening for it.

“Oh, excuse my
manners,” he said and let out a hearty laugh. “I’m Ron Anderson.” He stuck out
his hand and shook Renmar’s. “And this,” he pointed to his wife, “is
Charlotte.”

“Charlie,” she
said again and nodded her head.

“I hate to be the
one to tell you, Mr. Anderson. Mrs. Anderson,” Renmar nodded at each of them as
she said their names.

“Call me, Ron,” he
interjected.

“Ron,” Renmar said.
She squared her shoulders and blinked her eyes to keep away the tears that had
started to pool. “But Oliver is dead.”

Charlotte/Charlie
gasped and covered her face with her hands.

“Dead?” Ron let
out in a huff his face turning redder. “We just got here.”

“I’m not sure what
that
has to do with anything, Ron. Your timing is inconsequential, I’m
sure.” Renmar emphasized her words. “It seemed to be a calamity of events. But Oliver
died this morning sometime. His body is down at the McIntosh Funeral Home
waiting until morning so it can be transported for an autopsy.”

“Autopsy?” His
voice boomed. “We won’t have it!” he said which seemed to cause Renmar and Brie
to bristle. “There will be no autopsy,” he said loudly. “Tell them, Charlotte.”
He reached back and pushed her forward so she stood in front of him. “They
can’t do it unless you give permission.” He swung his eyes to meet Renmar’s
even though he was still speaking to his wife. “And you don’t give your
permission do you?” he asked never taking his eyes off Renmar.

“Well . . . I . .
. I guess I . . .”

“See,” he said and
pushed Charlotte out of the way. “They’ll be no autopsy.”

“They’ll be one if
the federal government deems one is necessary.” It was Bay. We’d all been so
engrossed in the argument that we hadn’t heard the bell on the door that had
announced his arrival. He must have heard part of the conversation. He reached
in his inside jacket pocket as he walked over to the counter where Ron and his
mother stood, looking my way, he winked.

“I’m Agent
Colquett. FBI.” He flashed his badge just missing Ron’s big, protruding nose.

“Bay,” Renmar
said. “I’m so glad you’re here.” The tears now ran freely down her face.

“Oliver Gibbons
was our family. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?” Ron said. “You, and nobody else
can tell us what we can do with his body. The government doesn’t have anything
to do with this.”

“You’re
misinformed about that, Sir,” Bay said, his voice deep and official. “Oliver
died on government property. And he died under suspicious circumstances. That
means the FBI has the legal authority to look into his death. And by that I
mean have an autopsy performed.”

Whispering started
in the dining room to the left of where they were having the conversation.
Ron’s brow furrowed and his eyes visibly twitched. He glanced at Charlotte, who
let out something like a hiccup. Ron licked his lips. “There’s going to be an
investigation into his death?”

“Probably is.
That’s why I’m here.” Bay looked at his mother and aunt. “That and for my
family. Oliver was family to us, too.”

Miss Vivee patted
the seat next to her on the tufted bench where she sat. I walked over and sat
down. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. She gave me a weak smile.

“Not the kind of
family that would get anything he owned. Not the land. Not the money,” Ron was
saying, his voice escalating with each word.

“What?” Brie’s
voice was up an octave. “Are you talking about Oliver’s things? He hasn’t been
dead half a day. And you come in here talking . . .” She didn’t finish her
sentence, instead she broke down crying. Renmar stepped behind the counter and
rubbed Brie’s shoulders. She glared at Ron.

“Why don’t we step
outside?” Bay said. We can speak in private then you can get you and your wife a
room.”

“Get a room here?”
Ron bellowed. “I wouldn’t stay here if it were the last place on God’s green
earth.”

“Lucky for us it’s
not,” Renmar said sarcastically.

“C’mon,
Charlotte.” Ron adjusted the suitcase on his shoulder, grabbed his wife and
dragged her and her small suitcase on wheels out the door.

Bay followed
behind him, but leaned in and gave his grandmother a kiss. “I got one for you,
too,” he said and smiled, his eyes turning to me. “But you’ll have to wait a little
bit longer for it.”