Beach Town Trouble (A Port Grace Cozy Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

“Cupcake, I presume,” said Georgia with a laugh as she pushed the dog down.

“That dog has some power,” said Matthew.

Crimbleton put a hand to her chin. “You know, I’ve seen that dog jump up on Tim like that. Maybe he accidentally pushed Tim off the cliff. We should crate him and bring him to animal control.”

Georgia’s smile faded, and she bent to pat the dog’s head. “That hardly seems fair,” she said.

“Honey, I get complaints about that dog on a weekly basis. Trust me, I’m doing the whole town a favor.”

G
eorgia called Ryan Yates
, her best friend since college and a New York private investigator, from her car as she followed Crimbleton to the station.

“Hey, doll. When are you coming back to the Big Apple?”

“You’ve really got to cool it with the ‘doll’ thing, Ryan,” said Georgia with a smirk.

“You know you like it.”

“You’re not going to believe why I’m calling.”

“Let me guess, you’ve landed yourself in another crime scene?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Whoa, seriously? I was joking. Good grief, Georgia! I thought it was supposed to be paradise down there in that small town of yours.”

“It’s not in my town. It’s a few towns over, a place called Windy Cove. I was going to buy a house from the victim.”

“Gosh, be careful, doll. You’ll be suspect number one if you found the body.”

“I don’t think so. These cops have never investigated a murder before. They aren’t even convinced it is murder. They think his dog accidentally pushed him off the cliff.”

“You don’t?”

“Not really, though I guess it’s possible. I already have a suspect.”

“So, let me guess, you’re calling for assistance from yours truly?”

“You
are
the best.”

“Aw, shucks, you really think so?”

“I know so.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

A few minutes later, the cop car pulled into the lot of a small brick building that looked like more of a residence than a police station.

“It’s…cute,” said Matthew.

“Yeah, but cute isn’t what we need,” said Georgia.

But cute really was the best way to describe it, inside and out. The station was just two rooms: a combined sitting room and office for the two deputies (each with their own rickety desk) and the chief’s office. Crimbleton’s office was decorated with pictures of children and grandchildren and needlepoint pillows, and it smelled of potpourri.

Rutherford and Peak lugged Cupcake’s crate in together to await animal control while Georgia and Matthew joined Crimbleton in her office.

“Chief Crimbleton,” said Georgia as soon as the door shut behind them, “I really think you should look into Jerry Wiseman. That land dispute Mr. Skimmerhorn filed really seemed to make him furious. He could have argued with Skimmerhorn on that cliff and shoved him too hard in the heat of the moment.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Crimbleton, settling in her cushy, pink, upholstered chair, “but I’ve known Jerry since he was eleven. He’s a good man. He lives there to take care of his momma.”

“Could you tell me about Mr. Skimmerhorn?” said Georgia, a little frustrated. “Is he as unpopular with everyone as he is with Mr. Wiseman?”

“Mr. Skimmerhorn was…eccentric, not unlike many of the folks around here. Money like that can give you some weird quirks, it seems to me. He was reclusive, and he loved to yell with little to no provocation. No, he wasn’t a very popular person, but he wasn’t hated either. He kept to himself, mostly. The only time people really saw him was when he was chasing after that nutty dog of his. The beast is friendly enough, but it’s improperly trained. It just runs wild. It really has torn up Jerry’s lovely garden—cabbage torn to shreds, strawberries splattered all over. It jumps on everyone, even little kids and elderly folk, which can be dangerous.”

“Keeping him in that crate is just going to make him more hyper,” said Georgia.

“I can’t do anything else with him. He won’t listen to commands. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to notify Mr. Skimmerhorn’s sister of his death.”

“He has a sister? Does she live close?” said Georgia.

“She’s a local. She’s even weirder than him, if you ask me. I don’t think they get along very well.”

Georgia resisted the urge to slap her palm to her forehead.

“If that’s really the case, why don’t we go notify her in person and ask her a few questions?”

Crimbleton sighed and put down the phone. “You’re going to make me traipse all over this town, aren’t you? Wish you weren’t right.”

G
eorgia and Chief Crimbleton
drove to Camila Skimmerhorn’s house together. Matthew had opted to go back to their hotel, saying, “I’m a little out of my league here with this whole murder thing.” Rutherford and Peak had stayed behind to man the station and hand Cupcake over to animal control.

Georgia could tell the house had once been elegant with its high porch, many windows, and tall, narrow structure, but it had fallen into disrepair. Some black shingles were missing from the roof, and the gray paint on the planked exterior was chipped all over. A large tree took up a great deal of the yard, but it was entirely dead. The rest of the yard was alive with weeds, although there was a small garden full of herbs and other plants. Georgia thought she recognized the purple flowers of wolfsbane.

“Sort of eerie, isn’t it?” said Crimbleton, watching Georgia.

“Can’t she afford to fix up the place?” said Georgia. “Surely her brother, with all his money, could help her out.”

“I told you Tim and Camila didn’t get along. In her thirties, she started getting into witchcraft—a result of all the drugs she did in her twenties, if you ask me. Tim saw her as an embarrassment.”

“Witchcraft? Really?” said Georgia, eyeing the wolfsbane.

“Oh, she’s harmless, just kooky,” said Crimbleton with a chuckle. “She fancies herself a good witch. Really, she’s just into making herbal medicine, but she’s a little whacked in the head, so she thinks she’s working for some ancient earth deity or something.”

“Uh-huh,” said Georgia, her mouth pulled to one side in a skeptical smirk.

“Doesn’t keep people from calling her house haunted, though. Kids dare each other to ring her doorbell on Halloween.”

“Let’s go meet the Wicked Witch of the West,” said Georgia.

Crimbleton laughed. It was a sweet sound. “Don’t say that to her face.”

They walked onto the porch, the wood creaking under their feet, and knocked. The woman who answered the door was as thin as her brother was chubby. Her mass of home-dyed brown hair was piled on top of her head and secured with ornamental pins and an emerald scarf. Her skin was surprisingly firm for a woman of her age, though she had her fair share of smile lines and wrinkles, and Georgia made a mental note to look into herbal medicine for skin care.

“Hi, Camila. I’m afraid I—” Chief Crimbleton started.

“You’re here about Tim, aren’t you?” said Camilla.

“How did you know that?” said Georgia, her voice stern.

Camila’s blue eyes locked on Georgia warily.

“The spirits told me from the beyond,” she said in a quivery whisper.

“Uh-huh,” said Georgia. “What exactly did they say?”

“They speak in riddles,” said Camila with a flippant wave. “I only knew someone would be coming to talk about Tim.”

“May we come in, Camila?” said Crimbleton.

“No, I think not,” said Camila with a nervous smile, pulling the door close to her body. “I’m…in the middle of something. It’s a dreadful mess in here.”

Crimbleton sighed. “All right, but I hate to do this out here. Camila, I’m sorry to say that your brother is dead.”

Camila looked at her feet.

“Death is only a new beginning,” she said.

Crimbleton cleared her throat and threw Georgia a look that said, “I warned you.”

“Yes, well, we aren’t entirely sure how it happened,” said Crimbleton. “He fell off the cliff in his backyard, but we—”

“Tim was always suited for death,” said Camila, talking over Crimbleton like she hadn’t heard her at all.

“Okay, well,” said Crimbleton with an almost imperceptible eye roll, “you’re next of kin, Camila, so when you’re done with whatever has made such a mess in there, I need you to come down to the morgue to identify the body. Give me a call when you’re ready.”

“All right, Sheriff,” said Camila.

“Camila, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m a police chief, not a sheriff.”

“Goodbye, Sheriff.”

Crimbleton pinched the bridge of her nose. Georgia heard her count under her breath.

“Goodbye, Camilla. Don’t forget to—” Camila shut the door. “Call.”

“She didn’t seem upset at all,” said Georgia. “And she knew we were here about Tim. I think you should bring her in for questioning, Chief.”

“Oh, I told you she was harmless, just weird. She didn’t do anything to him,” said Crimbleton, heading back to the cruiser.

“Then explain how she knew why we were here.”

“Because the only times I show up at her door are when she calls me about kids harassing her or when Tim has filed a complaint. She didn’t call me, so she made the correct assumption that it had to do with Tim.”

“Tim files complaints about her often?” said Georgia, sliding into the passenger seat.

“He’s tried to put restraining orders on her, accuses her of harassment every other month or tries to accuse her of illegal activity,” said Crimbleton, sounding annoyed. “I told you he sees her as an embarrassment. He never had any real grounds for any of it; he just wanted her locked away in a loony bin somewhere so he could forget about her. He was a pain in my butt as much as hers.”

“All the more reason for you to bring her in.”

“
T
hey won’t listen
to me,” said Georgia, setting her wine glass down a little too hard. “They’re going to botch this whole thing.”

Georgia looked across the table at Matthew to see him leaning into his chair with a slightly bewildered look.

“I’m sorry,” said Georgia with a sigh.

They were nestled into the small dining hall of the bed and breakfast they were staying at. She had been talking about the Skimmerhorn case for the entire meal. They were supposed to be discussing real estate.

“It’s just, we can’t really buy the home until the case is over, because the estate won’t be released until they’ve determined the circumstances of the death. So, I’ll work on helping the local yuppies wrap up the case, and in the meantime, you start looking for other suitable homes around here, just in case this one falls through.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Matthew, his typical smile back on his face.

“
W
hat’s all this for
?” said Georgia.

“Just because,” said Ryan, grinning ear-to-ear underneath his fedora. “Plus, you know, this is the second murder case you’ve wandered into since you’ve been down here. Thought you might need some cheering up.”

Georgia took the colorful, assorted bouquet and the boxes of Red Hots and Junior Mints (two of her favorite candies), feeling both pleasantly surprised and a little bit wary. He had never bought her a present when it wasn’t a holiday, and the only time he’d brought her flowers was when her mother had died. It seemed he really wasn’t going to get back with Sam and that he was still hinting at starting something with Georgia, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

He’d whipped out the gifts as soon as he’d gotten out of his car in the bed and breakfast parking lot.

“Thanks, Ryan,” she said, “for the gifts and for coming all this way.”

“You’re welcome, doll,” he said with a wink.

“You gonna call me a dynamite gal, too?” said Georgia with a smirk.

“Nah, but I’m thinking it.”

Georgia snorted. “Come on. Let’s go inside and I’ll fill you in.”

Once the two of them had settled in her room, she filled him in on everything she knew so far, making sure to tell him why she thought Jerry and Camila were good suspects.

“You’ve got two great candidates,” said Ryan when she was done, “but sounds like the local chief isn’t as willing to follow your leads as Harris was. Course, she doesn’t follow you around like a lost puppy like Harris does either.”

“Ryan,” said Georgia, a warning in her tone.

Ryan put his hands up in a defensive position. “I’m just saying, it’s going to be harder to question your suspects without the authority of the police to make them open their door to you.”

“So what do we do?”

“We need to find some evidence that will convince the chief to look into your suspects, but first, let’s get some more insider information. Sounds like this Skimmerhorn guy was pretty well-known, if not well-liked, around here. Let’s tap into the local gossip and see what we find.”

“Sounds good, but how do we do that?”

“Should be pretty easy in a small town like this,” said Ryan. “Gossip runs rampant in a small place. Although, we’ll have to be careful not to make it sound like we’re accusing a local of a crime, or they may clam up. The fact that Skimmerhorn and his sister are unpopular works well for us, but don’t mention anything about suspecting Wiseman.”

They walked up and down Windy Cove’s main street for hours, starting conversations with the locals. Some people brushed them off because they were busy, but a surprising number, most especially store owners, were very eager to share town gossip with some new ears who’d never heard it before. The best source by far was a fishmonger named Darrel. He had a thick black beard that covered most of his face and thick hair on his exposed arms. His eyes were kind, and he had a laugh that Georgia found infectious.

By the time they got to Darrel, news of Tim Skimmerhorn’s demise was old news to him. He didn’t seem too upset about it, but neither had anyone else they’d talked to.

“He wasn’t all bad,” he said. “He could be funny, just not when he meant to. He was mostly grouchy, though.”

When they asked about Camila, Darrel lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially.

“She’s a witch, you know.”

“Yes,” said Georgia, exasperated and doing her best to stop an inevitable eye roll. “Chief Crimbleton told me she’s into herbal medicine.”

“Ain’t just medicine,” said Darrel with a face that suggested maybe Georgia was a little slow. “She does spells and stuff. You been to her house and seen all them plants? It smells funny over there. There’s always smoke coming out her chimney, even when it’s damn near one hundred degrees.”

Georgia looked to Ryan with a stiff-jawed, wide-eyed look that begged him to help her get the conversation going in a different direction, but to Georgia’s dismay, Ryan had a tell-tale giddy light in his eye and a barely suppressed smile that meant he was getting a kick out of all this.

“So she’s into black magic?” said Ryan, and Georgia could hear the laugh bubbling behind his voice. “You think maybe she put a curse on her brother, Tim—made him walk right off the edge of that cliff?”

“Aw, well, I don’t know about that,” said Darrel, scratching at his beard. “She ain’t a black magic witch as far as I know. Ain’t never seen or heard of her putting a curse on nobody or anything like that. She keeps to herself, mostly, just like old Mr. Skimmerhorn did.”

“We’ve heard she didn’t get along well with her brother,” said Georgia, trying to bring some sanity back to the conversation.

“One time they had a shouting match in the middle of my store,” said Darrel, leaning in again. “He threw a perfectly good salmon fillet against the wall. At first she was matching him—just as loud, just as angry, and spitting like a wildcat—but by the end he had her cowering against the freezer there, crying. He could be downright vicious when he wanted.

“He told her he was going to lock her up in an asylum. He told her nobody cared about her, nobody would visit her, and everyone would be happy she was gone. I told him that was enough and made him leave. I hated seeing her cry like that.”

“Wow,” said Georgia. “He sounds pretty ruthless.”

“Oh, he was just as batty as she is,” said Darrel. “He was mostly harmless. Thing is, he was always convinced that everyone else was out to do
him
harm. I guess it was all that money, made him paranoid. He liked it a little too much, I think, and he was always worried people were trying to take it from him, including Camila.”

“I’ve seen it happen on other cases I’ve worked,” said Ryan, nodding his head.

Darrel smiled at having his theory confirmed by a New York private investigator. He lowered his voice to a whisper again and said, “You know why I think he picked on Camila worse than anyone else?”

“Why?” said Georgia eagerly, finally feeling as though they were getting somewhere.

“She was the only person in town who really knew him,” said Darrel with a wise-man-of-the-forest nod. “They were siblings. They grew up together. I’ve heard they were actually pretty close until she started getting into witchcraft. That means they were still close when he started his export business. If you ask me, she knew things about him he didn’t want anyone else to know. Import, export businesses are used as a front for less savory business deals all the time. I think maybe he didn’t come by all his money honestly, and maybe Camila knew it.”

“You think he was so mean to her to cut her down and keep her quiet?” said Ryan.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a real good theory,” said Ryan, turning to Georgia. “Putting her away in an asylum would discredit anything she said if she ever chose to come forward.”

“Yes, but then why didn’t he just go ahead and commit her?” said Georgia.

“I heard he tried back when she first started calling herself a witch,” said Darrel, “and he tried again about ten years ago, but apparently the docs didn’t think she was actually insane, just…eccentric. Didn’t think she was harmful to herself or anyone else, either.”

“Being persecuted like that by your own brother for so long could make anybody snap,” said Georgia, mostly to herself.

When her eyes fell back on Darrel, she looked as if she’d forgotten he was there.

“What do you know about his dog?” she said.

“Cupcake?” said Darrel with a chuckle. “I like that dog, but a lot of people around here don’t. He jumps up on everybody. He’s just saying hi. He don’t know no better. He’s just too big for his own good.

“Mr. Skimmerhorn was too old to keep a good grip on his leash. Cupcake would get loose every time they went for a walk. He’s knocked just about everyone in town over. One time”—Darrel started chuckling between words—“he ran right through Daisy Donahue’s café’s outdoor patio, and his leash got wrapped around one of the tables. He dragged that table three blocks, knocking over everything in his path.”

“Hmm,” said Georgia, while Darrel and Ryan laughed. Cupcake sounded like a sweet dog, but there did seem to be some grounds to Crimbleton’s theory, which Georgia didn’t like one bit.

“Thank you so much, Darrel,” Georgia said. “You’ve been a great help.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome, miss,” said Darrel with a giant smile.

“We may be stopping by to talk to you again, if that’s okay,” said Ryan.

“Anytime,” said Darrel, shaking Ryan’s hand. “I want to help any way I can. Crazy or not, Mr. Skimmerhorn was one of us.”

T
hat evening found Georgia
, Ryan, and Matthew sitting outside on a dock-like patio overlooking the ocean at the finest restaurant in Windy Cove, The Pink Pearl.

Ryan was doing his best not to look disappointed by Matthew’s presence, but Georgia could still tell—it was in the way he kept throwing sideways glances at Matthew and the way his smile faltered a little every time Matthew joined the conversation. It wasn’t that Ryan didn’t like Matthew, but he had intended the night to be a romantic evening with Georgia.

Georgia had known it from the moment he’d asked if she’d like to go out for the night. The way he had looked at her had betrayed his intentions, but she had pretended to be oblivious, even when he’d said he wanted to go to The Pink Pearl, which the bed and breakfast’s local information card said was the best romantic spot for couples in town.

“Sounds great,” she had said. “I’ll ask Matthew if he wants to come along. I’m sure he’s hungry. He’s been scoping out beach houses all day.”

Ryan had held up a finger and opened his mouth, and for a moment Georgia had been sure he would express his intentions out loud and she wouldn’t be able to casually ask Matthew along, but Ryan had said “sure” instead.

She hated to see the disappointment on his face, but she wasn’t ready to take that step, especially since she was casually seeing Chief Harris back in Port Grace every now and then.

With Matthew tagging along, Ryan would be much less likely to steer the conversation in a romantic direction, which Georgia would be forced to reject. She feared their friendship might not be able to recover from something like that. Much to Georgia’s relief, Matthew was eager to hear about the case.

“They’ve still got that poor dog locked up at the animal control center,” Matthew said. “He seems like the least likely suspect to me.”

“Me too, but Crimbleton didn’t come up with the theory without any proof,” said Georgia. “He has a history of knocking people over on accident. In fact, we have more proof against poor Cupcake than anyone else. We have great theories for why Jerry Wiseman or Camila Skimmerhorn would want Tim dead, but we don’t have any concrete proof against either of them.”

“We’ll have to get back with Crimbleton and see if they found any evidence at the cliff site,” said Ryan.

“I doubt they went back to look for any after we found Cupcake up there,” said Georgia with a huff of frustration.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” said Ryan, locking eyes with Georgia. “This case is stressing you out.”

Before she could reply, Georgia’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse, meaning to silence it, but saw that it was Julie. Georgia apologized to her companions and answered it.

“Georgia, please don’t kill me,” said Julie.

“Julie,” said Georgia, dragging out her sister’s name in warning. “What did you do?”

“Well, I’m at the office, and—”

“It’s after six. Why are you still there?”

“Because I’ve been sitting here for over an hour trying to fix it and putting off calling you.”

“Trying to fix what?” said Georgia, a knot in her diaphragm.

“I don’t know what happened!” said Julie, speaking fast. “I just wanted to check one file before I left because the client had just called. I was going to ask for help, but everyone was already leaving, so I went to do it myself, and then Mittens ran across the keyboard, and—”

“Mittens ran across the keyboard?” said Georgia, rising from her chair, practically yelling. “What is Mittens doing at the office?”

Lots of happy couples were peeling their eyes away from each other to stare at Georgia. Ryan hid a smile behind his hand.

“Dad dropped her off around lunch,” said Julie, sounding near tears. “She’s acting out without you here. She ripped up Dad’s drapes. He called me all mad, and I told him to calm down and bring her here to me.”

“What happened when she ran across the keyboard?” said Georgia, a hand on her forehead.

“It’s gone,” said Julie.

“What’s gone?”

“Everything!” said Julie. Now she really was crying. “The screen is just blank. All the files are gone. I can’t click anything. Oh, Georgia, I’m so sorry.”

The sound of Julie crying was the only thing keeping Georgia from yelling.

“Calm down, Jules. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. I’m going to call Cooper to come help you. If it’s not something simple, call our IT guy. The number is in my desk. Have him come by in the morning.”

“Okay,” said Julie, sniffling. “Thanks for not yelling, Gee-Gee.”

Georgia hung up and retreated to the patio railing to call Cooper. She told him the situation, and this time she was the one near tears.

“I’m hoping it’s just something simple and maybe you can fix it,” she said.

“Well, you know I’m not a computer whiz, but I’ll do my best,” said Cooper.

“Sometimes she panics over nothing. Once she thought her computer crashed, and she’d just accidentally unplugged it. I’m hoping this is something like that.”

“I’ll take care of it, Georgia. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks. Keep an eye on her for me while I’m gone, please.”

“Will do.”

“You’re the best.”