Foal Play: A Mystery (24 page)

“You okay?” Bill asked his deputy.

“I’ll be fine. Go on,” Rodney said and waved them on.

Bill turned to Colleen. “Head toward Lighthouse. I’ll see if I can’t block off Ocean Trail and send him back your way.”

She nodded and Bill took off down the road with his lights flashing and siren blaring. Sparky whined at the sound and rotated in a circle on the passenger seat.

“Hang on,” she said to the dog and peeled out.

Colleen’s cell phone rang. She answered without checking the number.

“Chief, it’s Bobby Crepe” came the screaming voice at the other end.

Colleen heard the sound of a loud motor and water splashing in the background. “Where are you?”

“I’m tracking that criminal from Raccoon Bay. I can’t see him now because of the trees but he was heading down Ocean Trail. I’m gonna try and beat him down the island and cut him off when I get to the sound.”

“I don’t think you’ll have enough time to dock and cut him off.”

“Who said anything about docking?”

Colleen’s eyebrows furrowed. How did Bobby expect to cut Max off if he didn’t dock and get a car? In a second, the answer hit her. “Bobby! You can’t ground the Jet Ski. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“There’s a ramp at Shad. It’s worth a try. Look after my mother.”

The connection went dead. She rode in silence for a moment, then speed-dialed. Bill picked up on the first ring.

“Bill. Listen. Bobby says Max is headed down Ocean Trail. He’s going to try and cut Max off by grounding his Jet Ski.”

“That’s impossible. He’ll get himself killed.”

“That’s what I said. Any way we can stop him?”

“Wish we could, but he’s got a pretty good lead on us from the water.”

“Then I’ll call the station and send the guys over. If he tries it, there will be EMTs at the ready.”

“And that should force Max down Corolla Drive.”

“I’ll have the guys block Corolla with the engine. Then we should have him,” she said and disconnected.

She hit speed-dial for the station. After two rings Jimmy picked up. “Jimmy? Chief McCabe.”

“What’s up, Chief?”

“Bill and I are chasing down a suspect in Miss Kennedy’s murder. Can you get the guys to pull the engine across Corolla Drive? Bobby Crepe and Bill are going to force him down that way.”

“Say that again,” Jimmy said, shock in his voice.

“I’ll explain later. Just get the EMTs to the intersection of Shad and Ocean Trail and the engine out on Corolla. Got it?”

“Right away, Chief.”

Colleen hung up and raced down Ocean Trail. She wondered how Myrtle was doing with Max. Then again, the better question might be how Max was doing with Myrtle. She pictured Myrtle bonking Max on the head and shrieking while he tried to drive. Max had likely gotten more than he bargained for in grabbing Myrtle.

Colleen decreased her speed as flashing lights from the ambulance came into view on the road up ahead. She hoped her team had made it to Shad Street before Bobby attempted his daredevil Jet Ski jump. Sparky barked in recognition at the ambulance as they drew closer. She decelerated and one of the EMTs jogged to the road to meet her.

“Hey, Chief,” the EMT said as Colleen braked on the shoulder.

“Where’s Bobby Crepe?”

“On the stretcher. He’ll be okay, the fool.”

“The engine out on Corolla Drive?”

“Yeah. But I saw Bill chase the suspect down Whalehead.”

“Damn,” she said under her breath.

The EMT’s eyes widened. Colleen didn’t typically swear around her employees. “Good work,” she said and drove away from the scene.

Colleen turned onto Shad Street. If Max went down Whalehead instead of Corolla Drive, he must have seen the engine blocking the road. What should she do? Corolla, Whalehead, and Lighthouse Drives ran parallel to one another and were populated with vacationers in beach houses. She couldn’t speed down the streets without risking hitting someone. The situation reminded her of when she was a kid and her mother sent her to get a forgotten item in the grocery store. Colleen would find the item but have a hard time locating her mother as she ran along the aisles, sometimes just missing her when each was blocked by the aisle end. She continued down Shad until she reached the point where it dead-ended at the beach and intersected with Lighthouse Drive. She tapped the steering wheel, worried.

Sparky yipped out the passenger-side window. Colleen scanned Lighthouse Drive and saw headlights rapidly approaching, followed by flashing police lights. She grinned with admiration. True to his word, Bill had forced Max back the way he had come. She threw her vehicle into gear and backed it up so it blocked access to the exit via Shad Street. Now the only way Max could turn when he reached the end of Lighthouse Drive was right, and that led to a dead end on the beach.

She glanced out the window and saw the lights quickly approaching. Too quickly. She flung open her door and leapt from her SUV. “Sparky, come,” she said and slapped her thigh. The dog bounced out the driver’s side and followed her as she ran away at full speed. Seconds later, Colleen heard the sound of metal slamming metal and knew that Max had rammed her SUV. Max reversed the sedan and sped right in the direction of the beach. We’ve got you now, she thought, and sprinted toward the beach with Sparky.

Bill skidded to a stop and jumped from his vehicle, lights still flashing. Nellie gingerly opened the back door of Bill’s SUV, slid out, and hurried toward the beach.

Colleen pumped her arms up the short hill at the end of Shad Street and stopped short when she reached the crest. The charcoal-colored sedan sat stuck in the sand a few yards away with the driver’s-side door open.

Bill caught up to Colleen as she cautiously approached the car. He signaled her to wait and unholstered his gun.

Nellie plodded through the sand several yards behind them. “Myrtle?” she said, biting back tears.

Colleen, Bill, and Nellie held their collective breath. The back door opened with a squeak and Myrtle staggered from the vehicle. “That guy won’t bother
me
again,” she said, brandishing a belt in her hand.

“Oh, Myrtle,” Nellie said, tears in her eyes, and stumbled through the soft sand toward her best friend.

Colleen scanned the beach as Bill took Myrtle’s arm and helped her walk to Nellie. At dusk the beaches were fairly deserted. There was a couple kissing on a blanket, a family playing badminton, and a man hiking up the beach. Colleen squinted at the man. Despite his rather casual pace, he seemed overdressed for an evening’s stroll on the beach. “Bill,” she said. “Up the beach.”

Colleen pointed to the man. She and Bill dashed to the firmer sand at the shoreline. Once near the water, Colleen picked up speed. Sparky ran beside her, his fur getting wet from the splashing waves.

Ahead, Max turned, spotted Colleen and Bill, and bolted. She pumped her arms harder and shot forward. She spied a herd of wild horses up the beach from Max and glanced at Sparky running beside her.

“Sparky, herd the horses!”

It was what the Border collie had been waiting for. Sparky took off running, breaking away from Colleen and closing the gap on Max. Max saw the dog gaining on him and began zigzagging up the beach. Sparky quickly reached and then passed Max, racing straight for the horses. Max looked back at her and smirked. He thinks I sent Sparky after him and now he’s safe, Colleen thought. She grinned. Max had no idea what was about to happen to him … if her plan worked.

She continued at a strong pace, thankful for all the early mornings she had forced herself to go jogging rather than get a few extra minutes of sleep. She stole a look behind her and saw Bill dropping back. He waved for her to keep going. She pushed forward despite the burn she felt in her calf muscles.

Sparky approached the horses from behind and nipped at their heels. The horses whipped their tails and attempted to move away from the pesky canine. The dog bent his head low, raised his haunches, salivated, and snapped at the heels of any horse that got too far from the group. Despite the danger of being kicked, Sparky was enjoying himself.

Colleen knew by the horses’ movements that they were growing increasingly annoyed with Sparky’s persistent nipping. If he kept it up, he would have the horses worked into an irritated frenzy, something she was counting on.

Max scampered up the beach toward the horses with Colleen right behind him. Max saw her closing the distance between them and waved his gun. She reduced her speed and Bill caught up to her.

“You see that?” she said between breaths.

“Uh-huh,” Bill said, sucking in air.

“I hope he fires it.”

Bill stared at her as if she was insane. “Not at us,” she said. “To spook the horses.”

Max reached the horses. He tried darting first left, then right around the herd. But as Colleen had hoped, Sparky had succeeded in working them into a fit of irritation and some were rearing up in an attempt to stop the dog from nipping at them. Frustrated, Max raised his gun in the air and fired. At that moment, Colleen knew the footrace was over for Max “Sweet Boy” Cascio.

At the sound of the gunfire, the horses recoiled and neighed. Max was surrounded by a mass of sweating, snorting steeds. He fell to his knees and raised his arms over his head to shield himself from being trampled. Sparky barked at the addition of Max to the horse mix.

Colleen and Bill reached the herd and staggered to a stop, exhausted. “Sparky, heel,” she said.

Sparky cocked his head at her. His tongue hung out of his mouth and she could swear he was smiling. The horses bolted up the beach, leaving Max slumped in the sand.

Bill stepped forward, still catching his breath, and seized Max by the arm. “Max Cascio, you’re under arrest,” he said, lifting Max to his feet and slapping cuffs on his wrists.

Sparky barked at Max as he rose. “Good job,” Colleen said and rubbed Sparky’s ears.

Bill gazed at her. “Yes, good job,” he said, pointedly.

Colleen smiled. You’re welcome, she thought.

Colleen observed the swarm
of reporters gathered outside the sheriff’s department with awe. She had never seen so much press on their island. All the major networks had sent their mainland crime reporters to cover the conference that Bill and Special Agent Garcia had called the morning after the arrest of Max “Sweet Boy” Cascio. She almost felt sorry for Corolla’s local reporter, who was obviously miffed that the story was no longer exclusively his.

Bill and Garcia stood at the podium with a dozen or so microphones pointed at them like needles to two magnets. Colleen was positioned to the side of the podium with Rodney. She had been asked to attend the press conference in case the reporters had any questions but Garcia had made it clear to her last night that the less she said the better. She had wholeheartedly agreed.

“Thank you for coming,” Garcia said, immediately quieting the press. “As you all know, last night we arrested Maximillian Anthony Cascio, also known as Max ‘Sweet Boy’ Cascio, a native of Brooklyn, New York, for heroin trafficking and the murders of Rosemary Kennedy and Frank Bremer. At this time, we suspect Mr. Bremer witnessed and interrupted a drug transaction involving Mr. Cascio and a Colombian courier while fishing off the shore of North Carolina. We now know that Mr. Cascio brutally murdered Mr. Bremer, burned his boat and body to cover up his crime, and buried the heroin in the dunes with the intention of retrieving it later. Ms. Kennedy was subsequently murdered after working with an eyewitness on a police sketch. I should note that Mr. Cascio has a long record of criminal behavior and was considered armed and dangerous. In light of that fact and in conjunction with local law enforcement, we placed Myrtle Crepe into protective custody when we believed an attempt was made on her life. It appears that Mr. Cascio acted alone in the murders of Ms. Kennedy and Mr. Bremer. DEA is currently working with the Colombian government to investigate the individuals who sold the heroin to Mr. Cascio for distribution within the United States. I’d like to thank Sheriff William Dorman for his cooperation with our investigation and the vital information he provided to the FBI and DEA.”

Colleen smiled as the crowd, particularly locals, applauded Bill. He acknowledged the crowd with a brief wave.

“At this time, we’ll take a few questions,” Garcia said.

“You mentioned Myrtle Crepe was in protective custody. Where has she been all this time?” one reporter asked.

Colleen eyed Myrtle and Nellie, who were listening nearby from inside Nellie’s car.

“Ms. Crepe was kept in a safe house.”

“Where?” asked another reporter.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a safe house,” Agent Garcia said, and laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Speaking of Ms. Crepe, why isn’t Mr. Cascio being charged with the arson of her home and the murder of Edna Daisey?”

Agent Garcia glanced at Colleen before answering. “A thorough investigation of the incident by Fire Chief McCabe and her department determined the cause of the fire to be accidental. The coroner’s report indicates that Edna Daisey, the victim found in the fire at the Crepe home, died from myocardial infarction, not the fire. Her death appears unrelated to this case.”

Myrtle and Nellie shook their heads. Despite Myrtle’s feud with Edna over the Lighthouse Wild Horse Preservation Society, Myrtle hadn’t wanted Edna dead—not really.

It had taken a bit of work, but Colleen had learned from Edna’s best friend Ruby that on the Fourth of July Edna had called Ruby while Ruby was on a two-week Alaskan cruise. Edna had told Ruby of her plan to steal the Lighthouse Wild Horse Preservation Society records while Myrtle was at the fair. Having heard Edna’s tirades before and annoyed that Edna had called her while on vacation, Ruby hadn’t taken Edna’s scheme too seriously. Colleen and Ruby suspected that Little Bobby’s surprise arrival home and violent outburst had startled Edna enough to stress her enlarged heart and led to the cardiac arrest. Ruby’s prolonged vacation meant nobody had noticed Edna missing, and the disfigurement caused by the fire had delayed the coroner’s identification of the body. Even though Bobby had never seen Edna in the house, he still felt somewhat responsible. The bottom line was that Edna’s own behavior, not the fire, had led to her death. Colleen sighed. Sometimes it’s better to let things go.