Death Washes Ashore (Myrtle Beach Mysteries Book 2) Page 2

  He grunted and receded back into shadow.

  Waves lapped in the sand behind us as the tide receded. I blew out a breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  We walked around the body. The crime scene techs would step aside if we walked into their bubble as they went about their business. They were focused on their jobs.

  Connor wore a pair of swimming trunks and that was it. He was in peak physical condition with well-defined muscles. Like a model on the cover of a steamy romance novel. He cast an impressive image when he was on TV.

  “The guy who called this in is a camper from Arkansas,” Gomez said. “He was out here to watch the space station pass overhead. He didn’t recognize West, but the first responders did. Hey, Frank. Come here for a sec.”

  One tech stood up and came over. “Yes, Detective?”

  “Frank, this is Clark. Clark, Frank,” Gomez introduced us.

  I would have shaken Frank’s hand, but I didn’t know where it had been. Well, I did, but wanted to stay away from getting bits of Connor West on me.

  “Hey, Frank,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same, I guess. Hey, aren’t you that guy who helped with the Boardwalk murder?”

  “That’s him,” Gomez answered for me. “Tell us what you’ve found.”

  “Sure. The cause of death seems obvious,” Frank said, pointing at the sword. “An autopsy will tell us for sure.”

  I gripped my chin. “Find any fingerprints?”

  “The handle is made of wood. It’s porous, and therefore no prints. Wood, salt water, and prints don’t get along. We found a partial print on the blade that’s sticking out of him. We’ll run that through the database and see if we get a hit.”

  “Just because you might get a match, doesn’t mean it’s the killer,” I said.

  “Right,” Gomez said. “We don’t know where this sword came from. What else have you found, Frank?”

  “Looks like a shark got his leg. Could be that someone killed him and dumped him in the water. His blood probably attracted a lot of attention from sharks.”

  “How long do you think he was in the water?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t have been long,” Frank said.

  “We believe he was dumped off one of the two piers,” Gomez said.

  The full moon caused a silver streak of reflective water all the way to the horizon.

  I pulled out my cell phone and tapped the screen a few times. I have an app on my phone that tells me the times of the tides, selectable by which pier you’re closest too. Not all piers are a part of the app, but the Springmaid one is. “My app says the tide will be at its lowest in about four hours. The high tide probably brought him in.”

  “Wait,” Frank said. “I saw this on the news yesterday. Wasn’t last night supposed to be the king tide?”

  Gomez looked at me like I was now the tide guru. I was at the bookstore until late in the evening doing my quarterly taxes. Then I went home and crashed, until Moody’s texts disturbed me. “I don’t know. I didn’t watch the news yesterday.”

  “You have your phone out,” Gomez said. “Look it up.”

  I did. “Yup, Frank’s right. King tide was last night.”

  King tides are the biggest tides of the year, unless a hurricane rolls through. They occur when the moon and sun align during a new or full moon, while the moon is as close to the Earth as it gets on its orbit. They are noteworthy because they often bring coastal flooding.

  “Would have been enough to wash him this far on shore,” Gomez said.

  We stood near the sand dunes. Sea oats bent in the breeze. “Has the body been moved since he was found?”

  “Nope,” Frank said.

  “Any signs of a struggle?”

  “He has some bruises and other marks on him. Can’t tell at this point how long he’s had them. Could have come from his show.”

  The Gladiator Games Dinner Show was one of action, fights, competitions, a little romance, and drama. There was something for all ages. I would never take a kid under ten to see it, but that’s just me. Parts of it were too intense for younger children. Tourists didn’t seem to mind. They packed the Colosseum in droves during the busy season.

  The hand-to-hand combat is where I assumed West received most of the marks.

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  “Do you want a closer look?” Gomez asked me.

  I’d seen enough and wasn’t sure if anything would jump out to me about his body that forensics or an autopsy wouldn’t find. Gomez had asked me down here to examine the body, and I didn’t want to disappoint her by declining.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  As I kneeled in the sand by the body, Moody called from the darkness, “Chief’s here.”

  My head whipped around. Several bouncing flashlight beams hurried in our direction across the sand from the Springmaid Pier.

  Gomez cursed under her breath. “Clark, you gotta go before she gets here. I’d hoped we’d have more time.”

  I would have to pass Chief Kluttz to return to my Jeep, and I didn’t look like I belonged with the forensics team already here. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my teal Coastal Carolina jacket, shorts, and flip-flops.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Gomez gritted her teeth. “Would it be too much to ask for you to walk through the State Park and back up Kings Highway to get back? I can’t let them see you.”

  “Be a long walk,” I said.

  “Please, for me. I’ll owe you.”

  I took one last look at the body. “Call me later. I won’t promise I’ll help yet.”

  “I understand, and I appreciate this.”

  “Okay. Talk to you later.”

  I stepped away from the crime scene and in the opposite direction of Kluttz. I picked up the pace once I was under the cover of darkness.

  It was a long walk back to the Jeep.

  Along the way, I replayed the events from the last hour. Connor West’s death would reverberate across the Grand Strand.

  Several questions hit me besides the obvious one of who did it? What was West doing when he was murdered? He was dressed for water activity.

  If I tried to figure out who killed him, I needed to learn where he lived. If his residence was oceanfront, maybe he owned a pool and was killed there. If that was the case, how did he end up in the ocean?

  What about the murder weapon? Was it West’s? A pretend gladiator struck down by a real sword. There was something morbidly poetic about that.

  Maybe he collected the authentic versions of the fake swords used in his shows. Perhaps West came home and found someone robbing his home, and the thief stabbed him with his own sword while trying to escape. Then why would he toss the body into the ocean? West was bigger and stronger than the average man. Someone with a great deal of strength would have had to manhandle Connor across the beach and into the water.

  That’s another factor. The current and time of death.

  Perhaps the biggest question of all: did I want to get involved in this?

  Chapter

  Four

  I drove home and tried to go back to sleep without success. Instead, I went to the bookstore early and brewed a cup of coffee using a French press.

  I checked the local news while the coffee steeped. Connor West’s name did not appear. It wouldn’t take long for news to travel once it did.

  My wife, Autumn, and I opened Myrtle Beach Reads on the Boardwalk eight years ago. It’s in the left-most spot in the bright green strip called the Shops on the Boardwalk between 4th and 5th Avenues, towards the south side of the Boardwalk. She remained at her job at the courthouse; I undertook the day-to-day operations. She planned to quit her job once the business was profitable enough. I had two excellent booksellers on my staff, Karen and Margaret, who helped make the store the bustling business it was today.

  Autumn had dreams of opening a bookstore. I always wanted a coffee shop. She was more of a tea drinker. We were fortunate that our two passions intertwined in the business world to form a simpatico bond.

  With a steaming cup in my hand, I gazed out the front windows of the store at the ocean across the street. The sun had just completed its ascent in the sky. It glimmered off the water in a thousand points of ever-changing light. A row of pelicans flew by, heading toward the Boardwalk promenade to my left. Few cars passed by on Ocean Boulevard during this early hour.

  The travel season was swelling. A larger number of tourists came into town with every passing week. I still saw familiar faces every day along the Boardwalk. Millions flock to Myrtle Beach each year, but here, in our mile-long stretch of boardwalk, we knew each other. Especially us business owners who meet regularly to discuss the direction of Downtown Myrtle Beach. It felt like a small town.

  Karen wasn’t due in for another hour. The store wouldn’t open for another half hour after that. I could go back to my office and work on the latest ghostwriting gig my publisher sent, but my heart wasn’t into it. I began ghostwriting an adventure series under a well-known author’s name several years ago. I had published a few short stories online. Someone from the publisher’s office read several of them, was impressed, and mentioned me to the author.

  He was getting older and wrote less. His time at a computer decreased, but his mind didn’t follow suit. He had ideas for other series he wanted to develop but didn’t have the energy to write. He sought someone to write under his name and always remain anonymous. The contract they offered helped to keep Myrtle Beach Reads running during the early days, and I kept writing because I enjoyed it—and they sent me to exotic places for on-site research.

  Not a bad perk.

  I unlocked the door, opened it, stepped through, closed it behind me, and locked it. Ambient noise increased. A soft onshore breeze whispered across my face and rustled the trees. One thing I realized after I moved here from southern Ohio years ago was that the wind sounded different, flatter as it blew through palm fronds rather than normal leaves.

  A sky blue and white Myrtle Beach Parks Department truck rolled by. Its tires droned on the blacktop. Clippings of leaves, branches, and palm fronds filled its bed. The city kept the Boardwalk as pristine as possible.

  With coffee mug still in hand, I looked both ways before crossing Ocean Boulevard. The strip that housed Myrtle Beach Reads sat across from an oceanfront parking lot. We had a splendid view of the ocean from our front window in the store. The Holiday Sands hotel was to my right as I stepped on the sidewalk.

  Several other resorts lined up to my left along the curve of the road. The signature lofty SkyWheel loomed beyond them. It had undergone a recent facelift and gained more popularity, if possible.

  After wiggling my way through the gate, I crossed the parking lot and stepped onto the beach. A long swath of sand stretched out in a gentle curve in both directions. Myrtle Beach was in the center of Long Bay, a gradual contour in the coast stretching from Bald Head Island to the north and Georgetown to the south.

  I looked south and wondered if they were still investigating the scene where West washed ashore.

  Beach combers combed the sand for shells that washed in overnight. I’ve found many whelk shells in this section close to the shop.

  I sat down in the sand and watched the waves and meditated, something I’ve done more of in the months since I learned Autumn’s death may not have been what it appeared.

  Her life was cut short. As was Connor West’s. That’s the mantra you hear often. “Life is short. Life is short.” Seneca said that life is long if you lead it well and with virtue. Not to waste it doing frivolous things. That’s when life feels short.

  Autumn put others ahead of her but was grounded enough to not overextend herself. She died close to the middle of normal life expectancy. West was near that age.

  I didn’t know where I was going with that train of thought, but it helped put my life in perspective. Should I concern myself with Connor West?

  If I got involved, what would my role be? I wasn’t a trained investigator, as my dad reminded me while I investigated Paige Whitaker’s death.

  I already had the responsibilities of the store to contend with. Since my misstep in Paige’s investigation, my role in the Downtown Development Corporation had diminished. What I did was illegal, but the owner of OceanScapes chose not to press charges.

  Did I want to add another murder investigation to my plate?

  I checked my phone for the time and saw a missed text message from Gomez. It came in about ten minutes ago and said to call her.

  I did. She answered.

  “Clark, thanks for coming out this morning.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Listen, we wrapped up down at the state park. Here’s the deal. The department doesn’t want you to help out on this one, if you know what I mean.” She did little to hide the subtext in her statement. “Moody shouldn’t have messaged you. Kluttz is going to be all over me on this and I can’t have you interfering. She appreciates what you did, but it’s not your job. The department needs a big win here. Something to help restore faith in us.”

  A seagull floated over my head. Wispy cirrus clouds drifted by overhead on their way out to sea.

  There was the public perception of the MBPD as well. Over the warmer than average winter months, tourism was higher than average. A boon to the local economy, but the cheap off-season rates drew a somewhat, um, rougher crowd than usual. The weekends got crazy on the Boardwalk and a few random shootings between strangers occurred.

  That led the local populace, including myself, to question the efficacy of the police to maintain the peace.

  If I aided Gomez and somehow figured out who killed West, that could undermine her and the department. The MBPD wouldn’t have caught the killer. Unless they kept my name away from public record. Which I was fine with. However, they got me involved and now my curiosity was up. Way up.

  Instead of responding to her admonition, I said, “Tell me about Connor West. The person, not the public figure.”

  “Let’s see.” She paused. “He was thirty-nine. Divorced. Lived in Surfside Beach.”

  “Where in Surfside?”

  “He had a big oceanfront place near the pier. It was new.”

  “I walk that area often. I think I know the place. Did he have a pool?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t been there yet.”

  “Were there any other marks not caused by sea life?”

  “Yes, there were indentations on his left shoulder.”

  “What kind?”

  “Fingernails.”

  “Like someone grabbed him while stabbing him with the sword?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  “Can they find DNA from that?”

  “If we can find the murderer before he scrubs his hands clean.”

  “You’re assuming the killer was male?”

  “We are.”

  I wouldn’t make that leap yet. “You say he was divorced?”

  “Yeah, he and his wife separated several years ago. She lives in Murrells Inlet with her new husband and three children.”

  “Do you know why they got divorced?”

  “No, not yet.” She paused. “Two of the three kids were West’s.”

  Chapter

  Five

  Gomez informed me that the kids were aged six, four, and a baby only a few months old. The youngest was from her new husband.

  She said she had to go and ended the call.

  My second in command, Karen, was unlocking the bookstore door when I returned. She jerked and put a hand to her chest when I stepped up beside her. “Gracious, Clark. You startled me.”

  Karen had short, blonde hair in a pixie cut and wore designer pink glasses. Featuring a bright and bubbly personality, Karen came to Myrtle Beach after her husband sold their newspaper business in a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. She was the editor of the paper. He wanted to fish, but she wanted to continue working. Now that she was approaching retirement age, she had wanted a job that carried little stress. I hired her before we originally opened the doors.

  “Sorry, you know me. I’m sneaky like a ninja.”

  “Sure. If you say so,” she laughed. She opened the door and entered, holding it for me. “I’ll go to the back and get the cash drawer ready. Winona and Humphrey closed last night, so it might take a few extra minutes.”

  “Gotcha,” I said. Winona and Humphrey were two new employees I hired over the winter months. With the time I spent ghostwriting action and adventure novels, and trying to expand the business with Chris McInally’s help, I needed to work less at the store. I still spend the bulk of my days here, but I’ve cut back on my time on the sales floor. That led to Winona and Humphrey.

  Winona was a gem. Just out of college. A lifelong reader with a knowledge of books that almost exceeded Margaret’s, who was a retired librarian. Winona had degrees in Business and Library Science and hit the ground running. She communicated well with customers. Pitched in wherever was needed in the store. Her first job was as a barista at Starbucks. She taught me a thing or three behind the coffee bar.

  I saw big things in her future. She wasn’t attached to the Myrtle Beach area. I have considered offering her a store manager position of the second Myrtle Beach Reads location. Chris and I have something brewing and hopefully we can get it off the ground so I can entice her to stay in the area.

  Humphrey was a near opposite of Winona. I hired him because he was my neighbor’s kid. He graduated from high school last summer and had no ambition. He played video games at all moments when not working. Actually, he does, even when he is working. I have it on video. He doesn’t know it.

  I’ve thought about letting him go, but don’t want to create any awkwardness in the cul-de-sac with his mom. Perhaps he needed a nudge. Something to motivate him. I had a few ideas.

  While Karen was in the back counting change, I brewed two pots of coffee. One was a House Blend from Rivertown Roasters in Conway, and the other was a Dominican Blend from ZOLA’s in Wilmington. I only brewed coffee from local roasters.