Death Washes Ashore (Myrtle Beach Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  Also by Caleb Wygal

  Lucas Caine Novels

  Moment of Impact

  A Murder in Concord

  Blackbeard’s Lost Treasure

  The Search for the Fountain of Youth

  Myrtle Beach Mystery Novels

  Death on the Boardwalk

  Copyright © 2021 by Caleb Wygal.

  Visit the author’s website at www.CalebWygal.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictionally and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Franklin/Kerr Press

  Kannapolis, North Carolina 28083

  www.FranklinKerr.com

  Edited by S. Daisy

  Cover art and design by Mibl Art

  Interior design by Jordon Greene

  FIRST EDITION

  Hardcover ISBN 978-1-7354373-8-5

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-7354373-7-8

  Library of Congress Control Number 2020921605

  Fiction: Cozy Mystery

  Fiction: Amateur Sleuth

  Fiction: Southern Fiction

  This is for my uncle,

  Russell Taylor.

  If it weren’t for him and his demand to look busy,

  you wouldn’t be reading this.

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  “I think she was murdered.”

  Gomez’s statement about Autumn, my wife who had been dead for two years, hung in the still night air outside of the MBPD station near the Boardwalk. Streetlights crackled with phosphorescence. An owl hooted in the distance.

  Blood thundered through my ears. My muscles tensed. This can’t be. Just as I was reconciling her passing, Gomez brought it all back. There had been no signs of foul play. Autumn died of a sudden heart attack while working late one evening at her desk at the courthouse.

  She had a preexisting heart condition. She woke up every day knowing it could be the last. I buried her and never thought that her death was anything more than it seemed.

  Until now.

  I shivered. Gomez crossed her arms and rubbed her elbows. Puffs of condensation escaped our mouths as we talked.

  As I fumbled for words, Gomez explained. “I was still coming up through the ranks when it happened. They assigned the case to our lead detective back then, Ed Banner. All the cases involving death of any kind were assigned to him. I mostly worked burglary and vice cases. Particularly vice. His partner wasn’t there that night, so he grabbed me to come along.” She paused and watched the red taillights of a passing car roll up Oak Street. “There were rumors of something going down between the courthouse and city hall.”

  I scratched my head. “City hall? What does that have to do with Autumn? She was a clerk for Judge Whitley at the courthouse.”

  “That’s what I never figured out. I had a friend who worked at city hall. We’d go out and have drinks on the weekend. She’d open up and tell me things. You know. ‘A friend of a friend of a friend told me something.’ Everything was compartmentalized. Every unit within city hall operated independently. But she heard that something was up.”

  Gomez wasn’t being specific. Perhaps on purpose. She continued.

  “After they finished the reconstruction of the Boardwalk, Myrtle Beach started seeing remarkable growth in a short period.”

  “Yeah, the number of tourists grew by leaps and bounds. More staff had to be hired to support the associated businesses. Hotels, resorts, theme parks, restaurants, etc.”

  “Right. People started moving in. Also, Baby Boomers from up north were retiring and moving here. Many who served at the old Army base by the airport returned. The city was suddenly flooded with a bunch of building and development requests. I found out some were on the shady side.”

  “Of course. What does this have to do with Autumn? She clerked for the judge who presided over traffic and boating violations. She wasn’t connected to any of that.”

  “Not directly, no.”

  “I don’t get it. There were no signs of murder. She had an arrhythmia. She was otherwise completely healthy, but we knew she could die any day.”

  “I get that, but there’s one thing that nagged at me. It’s why I still think she was murdered.”

  My mouth was dry. “What’s that?”

  “Detective Banner was told to wrap it up quickly. After he did, he told me in confidence that it seemed fishy. He didn’t know why either.”

  I put a hand on the rough brick exterior of the police station. I had to process all Gomez was telling me. She realized that and stood by in silence, taking in the night air. Autumn murdered? It couldn’t be. There was no way.

  Just after her death, my world flipped upside down. I suddenly had a funeral to plan. I was aware of an investigation, but they closed the file quickly. Everyone thought she died of natural causes. Except, apparently, for Gomez.

  I asked, “Do you think you could arrange for me to speak with this Detective Banner?”

  The corner of her mouth drew down. Her shoulders sagged. “That’s the thing. You can’t. None of us can.”

  The butterflies in my stomach began doing backflips. “Why is that?”

  “He’s dead too.”

  Chapter

  Two

  Months passed. Gomez told me there was nothing she could do about it. It was a cold case. A no case.

  I spoke to Autumn’s former coworkers, mentioning nothing about murder. Autumn’s loss put a hole in their lives and jobs as well. That led nowhere.

  With Gomez’s help, I spoke to her friend, Dawn Holder, who worked at the city hall. Dawn was a community engagement specialist who specialized in creating awareness of the various festivals and programs put forth by the various government agencies within Myrtle Beach. She dealt with many people across a variety of departments. She knew a little about a lot.

  When it came to Autumn, she didn’t remember much. She said she’d think about it and get back to me. That was two months ago, and I hadn’t spoken to Dawn since then. I ran out of avenues in which to investigate. I’d hit an information wall, much like when I’d punched a hole in a wall in my house in frustration one night. The bruises on my knuckles lingered for days. The hole would be there until I patched it. I had to type on a keyboard with one hand until the pain subsided.

  Life moved on for everyone else, but not for me. That night over two years ago when Autumn died stuck in my mind. I was making dinner when the coroner and watch commander knocked on my door.

  Autumn’s death took control over me, I had to shake myself out of it. I had few friends to confide in. I’m not about to go see a shrink. I began waking up earlier and going out to the beach to reflect. I’d imagine looking through the eyes of a seagull soaring through the air, looking down on me seeing the other people along the beach, the resorts, waves breaking, and shadows of fish swimming near the surface of the water. The sand on the beach had been around for thousands of years. It was a good reminder that there was more to this world than me. I was but a small piece of a larger whole. It made me feel fortunate to be alive.

  And it worked. Her death would always hang over me, but I had begun to move forward.

  Early on a Monday morning, the phone on my nightstand pinged. I had been in a shallow sleep. I kept the phone there at night in case there was an emergency at the bookstore. There hadn’t been one in all the time I had owned the store, so I figured this was just an email notification.

  I fell back asleep.

  The phone pinged again. And again. And again.

  I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and took a drink of water to clear away a sour taste in my mouth. After grabbing the phone, I laid on my back and lit the screen.

  I didn’t recognize the number. There were four text messages. They read:

  Detective Gomez needs you to meet us on the beach between the State Park and Springmaid Piers ASAP.

  There is something she wants you to see.

  Get here pronto.

  This is Moody.

  Ordinarily, any invitation to meet the lovely Detective Gomez on the beach would have been welcome. However, five o’clock in the morning wasn’t ideal.

  I wondered what Detective Moody’s summons could be about, and only one thing sprung to mind: someone was dead.

  * * *

  I had a state park pass but parked at the Springmaid Pier instead. It was more direct than navigating the winding roads of the state park campground in the dark. The piers jut out into the Atlantic, half a mile apart. I used to jog back and forth between them.

  Two MBPD cars were parked at the front edge of the parking lot by the beach. A forensics van sat beside them. I recognized Gomez’s police issue Ford Fusion in one of the parking spots near my Jeep.

  I sent Moody a text alerting him to my arrival.

  The parking lot was lit by several streetlights. The lot was half full. Or half empty, depending on how you looked at it. After climbing from the Jeep and veering past the Jack’s Surf Lessons and Rentals booth, I was on the much darker beach. It was a cloudless night under a full moon, casting a soft gray glow on the breaking waves. Stars glittered above. The first hint of sunrise caused the sky to glow orange on the bottom of the horizon out over the ocean. A soft onshore breeze buffeted the l
ight jacket I wore. The salt air smelled fishier than usual. Water lapped against the pilings of the pier.

  No one stirred in the lot. My flip-flops scratched along the pavement before quieting once I reached the sand of the beach.

  The ocean ebbed. Low tide was on its way.

  It was easy to spot the crime scene. Three portable lights on tripods were set up in a triangle around a body laying in the sand. Three people moved around within the light array, observing the body and taking photos. Several others stood off to the side in the darkness. I assumed they were police officers and other investigators. The low tide would give the crime scene techs more time to do their jobs without having to worry about the body washing away

  Two people stood alone. A stocky shadow and a taller, slender shadow. The taller one broke off from her partner and headed in my direction. Had to be Gomez. I would recognize her long legs and bouncing ponytail anywhere, even on a dark beach.

  I met her as a wave reached its end, the cool water brushing up against my left foot before receding back into the ocean.

  “Clark, what are you doing here?”

  My forehead twisted and wrinkled. “What do you mean? Moody sent me a text saying you wanted me here.”

  She turned and shot a look back at her partner that could melt lead. Moody took that moment to look down at his phone.

  Gomez snorted. “No, I didn’t want you here.”

  “Uh, okay.” I pointed at the crime scene. “Who died?”

  “Connor West.”

  It took a moment for the name to connect. When it did, my synapses pulsed. “The Gladiator Games performer guy? The one in all of those local car commercials?”

  “That’s him. Had a daily local show too on WMHF, I believe.”

  “Yeah. It’s a good program. Was a good program.”

  Gomez closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her face. She groaned. “Look, you’re already here, so I might as well tell you. The chief wants this done as soon as humanly possible. Pull out all the stops. Leave no stone left unturned. I imagine that’s why Moody contacted you. He was probably hoping we could show you the body before everyone caught wind of this.”

  A tremor ran up the back of my neck. To be honest, part of me hoped this call would come. Being able to bring closure to Paige Whitaker’s death for her family after the police’s trail had run dry made me feel good. I received a commendation from the mayor in his office at city hall for figuring who killed her. A photographer and reporter from the Myrtle Beach Sun News were on hand. The photo of me shaking the mayor’s hand while he presented me a Certificate of Commendation made the front page. I wore flip-flops for the occasion.

  Connor West was a big name in the Myrtle Beach area. This would be all over the news. He was the lead in the Gladiator Games Dinner Show across from Broadway at the Beach. The biggest show in town. Literally. The show took place in an arena inspired by the Roman Colosseum. I took in a show with Autumn a few months after they opened.

  Myrtle Beach was home to several large-scale dinner shows, including Medieval Times and Pirates Voyage. Neither held a candle to the new kid in town.

  West came from Hollywood via Las Vegas, where he appeared on several network television shows. He made a name for himself along the Grand Strand by being a pitchman for a big car dealership and from co-hosting a weekly local interest show on WMHF. You could also see him on several billboards as you cruised down the 17 Bypass or Kings Highway, welcoming tourists as part of a campaign from the Myrtle Beach Tourism Council. Many locals in the area were aware of his background. It was difficult to live here and not be aware of Connor West.

  She asked, “If you can stomach it, do you want to look at the body?”

  I couldn’t see the body from our vantage point. “Sure.”

  She shoved her hands in the pockets of her windbreaker. “Touch nothing. If you need something moved, one of our techs will do that for you.”

  “Is there a lot of blood?”

  I couldn’t see her expression in the dark. She took a deep breath in and let it out. Perhaps studying my body language to see if I was up to this.

  “There’s not much. He probably bled out in the ocean. It looks like a shark got him.”

  I scratched my head. “If a shark got him, why all the crime scene stuff?”

  “Because he was murdered.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There’s a sword sticking out of his chest.”

  Chapter

  Three

  I didn’t believe my ears. “A sword? Like a ninja sword?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not an expert in that type of weapon. Guns, yes. Swords, no. Forensics will tell us.”

  I moved sand around with one foot, while pondering how close I should get to the body. I said, “I hate to be that guy, but what’s in this for me?”

  She took her hands out of the jacket pockets and crossed her arms. In a soft voice, she said, “It would be a personal favor to me. Look, I’m still new to this position. Paige Whitaker was only the second murder I had to investigate.”

  “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “My dad is a retired detective from New Jersey. He’s seen everything. I wanted to be like my dad, and he was more than happy to guide me to this position. Between you and me, I wasn’t ready for it. I put in for it when Banner died. After some rigmarole, I got it. I didn’t expect it.”

  “Maybe your bosses saw something in you.”

  “Could be. Or there were no other qualified candidates. Look, I just want to keep my job, see that justice is served, and keep my dad proud.”

  “I’m sure he’d be proud of you no matter what.”

  She snorted. “You don’t know my dad. Besides, there might be a reward involved. It’s too early to say.”

  The reward I received for solving Paige Whitaker’s murder was a big, unexpected bonus. It would go towards opening another bookstore somewhere with Chris McInally’s help. Chris was the person I wrongfully accused of murdering Paige Whitaker, but he forgave me, and we went on to be friends as strange as it sounds. He specialized in expanding businesses and offered to help me do that with mine.

  Gomez wasn’t annoyed that I’d solved her case. She wanted to see the bad guy behind bars, no matter the source.

  She placed a hand on my arm. Her eyes reflected the moonlight. “I would be grateful.”

  How could I turn that down? “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Thank you, Clark. Just know, that you’re free to walk away at any point. This isn’t your job. You might see and hear things that people wouldn’t want to see and hear. Also, after tonight, you’re pretty much on your own. I won’t be able to feed you much information. The chief can’t know you’re here.” They waved a hand at the crime scene techs. “I can get them to keep quiet about you.”

  “I understand. Lead the way.”

  We closed the remaining hundred yards to the crime scene. I steeled myself for what I was about to see. When I discovered Paige’s body, it was rolled up in a rug. I saw her head, and the concavity formed by whatever struck her and a small amount of blood.

  Connor West’s body was worse. He lay on his back, arms and legs askew. Part of his left leg was gone. His torso was slightly raised off the ground because of the sword blade sticking into the sand. The hilt protruded from his chest. Ocean water had washed all traces of blood from it.

  I swallowed hard, fighting off the urge to throw up. Gomez sensed this and put a steadying hand on my upper arm.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” she said.

  I bit back the sour taste in my mouth. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

  The forensics technicians went about their business and paid no attention to me. A familiar face emerged from the darkness and into the lights.

  “Clark,” Detective John Moody, Gomez’s partner, said to me with a voice that sounded like he gargled with gravel.

  “Detective Moody,” I returned. The detective, hardened by age and experience, spoke little. To me, at least. He reminded me of a crusty poodle with graying hair. I much preferred to run into him at night, which is when I imagined he spent most of his waking hours.