A beach to die for, p.1
A Beach to Die For, page 1
Books by Bruce Hammack
The Smiley and McBlythe Mystery Series
The Star of Justice Series
The Fen Maguire Mystery Series
Discover how Smiley and McBlythe solved their first case and formed their partnership. Sign up for my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Exercise Is Murder!
See my latest catalog of books at brucehammack.com/books.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Murder On The Brazos Excerpt
From The Author
Books By Bruce Hammack
About The Author
Copyright
1
“Is Leo sure this is a murder?” asked Heather.
Steve answered with a shrug.
She led him out of the muggy morning air into an upscale apartment in a gated complex within Houston’s inner loop. The metal tip of his white cane swept back and forth across a floor of beige travertine. Once past the foyer, coat closet, and home office, the open floor plan gave her a view of a kitchen, dining area, and living room of substantial proportions.
She took in a full breath. “The kitchen counters are marble; the stove and ovens are professional grade.” Heather turned to the dining room. “Dining room table and chairs for ten. All new and high end.”
Steve responded with a grunt but no words.
“The stone floor ends where the living room begins. The carpet is what’s called loop-cut-loop. It’s tightly woven, has geometric patterns, and looks expensive. The room reminds me of one hit by a tornado. Broken lamps and vases, ripped couches and chairs, paintings thrown about willy-nilly, and a puddle of what I’m sure is drying blood by the coffee table.”
Leo, Steve’s former partner at Houston homicide, added, “It’s blood. We tested it. The forensic crew bagged and tagged a fireplace poker with hair, skin, and blood on it.”
Steve asked, “How much hair?”
“Some loose strands and what was in a clump of skin about the size of a dime.”
“Are the loose strands of hair with or without roots?”
“With,” said Leo.
“All of them?”
“Every one.”
Steve issued a quick “Uh-huh” and rested both hands on the top of his cane. “How much blood?”
Heather and Leo traded glances before Leo said, “Too much for the victim to live and talk about it.”
Steve huffed a note of impatience. “How much is too much?”
Heather came to Leo’s aid. “That will be impossible to tell until the forensic crew cuts out the stained carpet and analyzes it.”
“I know that,” said Steve. “Give me your best guess.”
“It depends on the pad underneath the carpet. The quality of the carpet tells me the pad has a moisture barrier. If we assume it does, I’d say four units, give or take one.”
“Any blood splatter?”
Leo took over again. “None.”
“Was there a blood trail?”
“No.”
“What’s the distance from the fireplace tools to the pool of blood?”
“Fifteen feet.”
“Any trail of blood around the puddle?”
“None.”
Silence prevailed for half a minute before Steve asked, “What did they take?”
Leo took his phone and read from notes. “Signs of burglary include: no wallet found in the apartment, indentations in the master bedroom’s carpet show recent removal of a home safe, and no jewelry found.” He looked up. “His phone was on the nightstand.”
“So,” said Steve. “You have no body but plenty of evidence of a burglary and a homicide.” He lowered his voice. “Can anyone else hear us?”
Leo didn’t bother reducing the volume of his words. “I sent everyone outside, including forensics.”
Heather knew what was coming, and it sent a shiver down her spine. When Steve came to the location of a suspicious death, he had an advantage over others because of his special gift. Its proper name is associative chromesthesia. A small fraction of people can perceive colors when they are writing music, painting, or deeply immersed into a creative activity. Steve possessed the ability to “see” shades of red at homicides. Quite the trick for a blind man.
Steve lifted his chin. “Leo, what’s his name?”
“Quinton Rush.”
Heather locked her gaze on Steve. The odor of rusty metal found her as blood continued to dry in the puddle of eggplant-colored goo.
Steve took his time before announcing, “No red and no pink; you don’t have a homicide.”
“An insurance scam?”
“Uh-huh. Start with a financial check of Mr. Rush. Look for life insurance policies, especially those taken out in the last six months. I’m sure you’ll find he has serious money problems.”
Leo tapped notes into his phone as Steve continued, “There’s too much physical evidence of a burglary; no reason to destroy paintings, lamps, and furniture. A fight would have resulted in splatter somewhere in the room.”
Steve took off his sunglasses and rubbed his sightless eyes. “What’s in the puddle belongs to Quinton Rush, but there’s too much of it. He planned this for a long time, extracted his own blood, and stored it until he had enough.”
“So much blood made me suspicious. I needed you to confirm it.”
Steve continued, “You probably already thought of this, but the missing safe, wallet, and jewelry also speak of Mr. Rush wanting to keep things of value. Did you notice he was smart enough to leave his cell phone here?”
Heather spoke up. “All the hair samples having roots made me wonder. A blow from a poker would have broken some.”
Steve summarized. “Look for Mr. Rush’s love interest. Odds are she, or he, is the beneficiary named on the insurance policy and in his will.”
“Anything else?” asked Leo.
“Two things. Mr. Rush will have a bandage on his head from where he or his partner gouged a chunk out of his scalp.”
“Got it,” said Leo. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Where are we going for lunch?”
“Sorry. I’m breaking in a new detective who’s wondering why I kicked her and everyone else out of the room when you arrived. Thanks for confirming what didn’t seem right.”
“It’s a good thing you called me this week and not next.”
Leo’s eyebrows arched in a question. Heather explained. “We’re flying to St. Croix for Bella and Adam’s wedding.”
Steve added, “I can’t wait to sit under a palm tree listening to waves lap against the shore.”
Leo snapped his fingers. “That’s right. It’s already August.” He tilted his head and looked at Heather. “Speaking of marriages—”
Steve cut him off by cupping his hand and speaking in a loud pretend-whisper. “We don’t talk about when she and Jack will tie the knot.”
Heather placed her hands on her hips and gave an answer that sounded lame even to her. “How do you know we haven’t already eloped?”
“Good try,” said Steve. “I’d know it if you had.”
She rose to the challenge. “How?”
“Experience. Maggie and I couldn’t wait and got married during our last year in college. She worried until the following June that her parents would find out.”
Heather felt her mouth hinge open as Leo said, “You old dog. I didn’t know that. Where did you live?”
“In separate apartments. We each had roommates to save money. Her father made it clear that she’d be my responsibility the day we married. He must have said that twenty times after we got engaged. We had another full year of college and selected June for the church wedding her mother insisted on.”
Steve’s past seemed to come alive. “It came down to a lot of guilt over sin or holding back information. Being a fiancé with benefits wasn’t an option for Maggie.”
“But sneaking around was?” asked Heather.
Steve’s grin threatened to stretch his face. “Maggie and I were both working and taking a full load of classes. Going public would have added another year before we graduated.” A mischievous tone slipped into his words. “Her dad was an avid fisherman and had his eye on a new bass boat, which he couldn’t afford as long as he was paying for college. He secretly hoped we’d elope. We did, but didn’t tell him.”
Leo nodded approval. “Smart move, but didn’t it bother Maggie to hide the marriage from her father?”
“Not much. It was a great way to ease int
“You told the preacher?”
“Why not? He agreed with our decision. Coveting a bass boat was a bigger sin to him than two grown people getting married on the sly.”
Leo looked toward the front door. “I need to get this crime scene processed.” He gave Steve a firm pat on the shoulder. “Have a safe trip. Tell Bella and Adam I wish I could have come to their wedding.”
Heather placed Steve’s hand on her arm. “It’s still a week away. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll send my plane back for you.”
“Six kids, school’s starting, and the oldest is going off to college. My day in the sun and sand on a tropical island is about twelve years from now.” He looked at the door. “Time for me to let the troops back in.”
Frowning crime scene technicians covered their noses and mouths with blue masks and slipped back into the apartment.
Heather pushed a button on the key fob and her Mercedes SUV came to life on the far side of police tape. Steve lifted his head. “That sound means the air conditioner is on. We need to let you get back to work.”
“Thanks again for making the trip. I’ll talk to the captain and get this case transferred to fraud. That should earn me a gold star for the day.”
“Don’t be so sure this case is over. Once the beneficiary finds out the insurance company won’t pay, Quinton Rush may be your next homicide. Hopefully, he’ll choose an island other than St. Croix.”
“Speaking of,” said Heather. “I need to think about what I’m going to wear.”
“And I need lunch,” said Steve.
2
Once in the SUV, Heather asked, “Any preference on where you want to eat?”
A click sounded as Steve put on his seatbelt. “Something fast. I can tell Leo’s call came at a bad time. You’re not your normal cheerful self.”
Heather wondered if she should mention the disappointing financial reports she received yesterday. She chose not to, and said, “We passed a sandwich shop a couple of blocks from here. Is that all right?”
“Fine. I’ll get something worth eating. You can have your usual salad and tell me what’s bothering you while we eat.”
She didn’t wait. “It’s mainly a self-inflicted wound. We haven’t had a case to work since January and here we are with summer slipping away. I’ve done nothing but work for seven straight months and several of my investments are slipping. I feel like I’m in a rut.”
Steve nodded. “Stale is how I’d describe myself. I’m writing less and wasting my time listening to podcasts more and more.” He took a breath. “How are things with Jack?”
“All right, I guess.”
She realized her tone betrayed her. “Let me amend that. I think he’s fine. I really haven’t spent much time with him.”
“Why not?”
“The way the economy is going, it’s harder and harder to grow the business. I’ve tripled my domestic business trips and doubled the international ones. Overall, profits are flat-lining.”
“That’s good to hear.”
She glanced to her right. “Why is that good?”
“I thought it was something serious, like your father’s health, or Jack had been in an accident. Business is down all over the country and you’re maintaining. Sometimes things are beyond your control. Not going backward is an impressive achievement.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Would you like to stomp your feet and scream at the sky for a while?”
“I’ve already tried that. I bruised my heel.”
Steve started chuckling, which rippled her way. She caught it. Like some irresistible force of nature, the laughter started and couldn’t be contained. She barely made it into the parking lot before laughter-induced hiccups set in. She chose the first available spot, put the vehicle in park, and reached for a tissue to dry her leaky eyes. “Thanks. I didn’t realize how tight I was wound until now.”
“I know just what you need. Call your office, take the rest of the day off, and pretend we have a murder to solve.”
“I have a better idea,” said Heather. “I’ll do what you said, except I’ll think about St. Croix while I’m at the spa. An overhaul on everything from toenails to my hair’s split ends is long overdue.”
Her phone sounded the ring tone indicating it was Jack calling. She enabled the call and said, “Hello, handsome. Are you calling to ask me to dinner?”
A hesitation sounded in his voice. “Listen, something’s come up.”
Her back stiffened. “Please tell me it’s not your mother.”
“No,” he said with urgency. “Mom’s fine. It’s something legal I have to take care of.” He gave a strained laugh. “I’ll be out of town for a few days.”
“That’s a change. I’m the one who’s always saying that to you. Is it a big case?”
“Yeah. I need to go.”
The call cut off and Heather slipped her phone in her purse.
Steve pulled the handle and the door popped open. “I’m getting potato salad with my sandwich. What are you having?”
“Some sort of salad. I want to look halfway decent in a bathing suit. Only another week before we leave and then a week until the wedding.”
Steve was halfway finished with his meal when his phone announced a call from Adam, Bella’s fianc. He placed the phone on the table so they both could hear. “Hello, Adam. I’m having lunch with Heather and she’s listening.”
A strained voice came back. “I’m calling to see if you and Heather can get here as soon as possible.”
“Is everything all right?”
“No. No it’s not. Bella’s a wreck.”
“That sounds like more than pre-wedding jitters. What’s happened?”
“She found a man dead in the parking lot of her parents’ resort.”
“Take your time, and give us details.”
“Bella found the body this morning. All she could say was, ‘Call Steve and tell him the killer used a garrote.’ The police are questioning her now.”
“Do they suspect her?”
“They locked down the resort. I don’t know who they suspect.” An indistinguishable voice in the background preceded Adam saying, “The detective wants to talk to me next. I need to go.”
A metallic click ended the conversation.
3
The next morning, the day’s first rays of sunshine poked through the window of Heather’s new twin-engine corporate jet. She’d chosen a seat at the front while Steve had moved to the rear of the ten-passenger plane, a step up from the five-seater she sold. This one gave her additional range for international flights and allowed her to travel from Conroe’s regional airport to St. Croix direct.
She rose from her leather seat, took a couple of steps, and refilled her cup with strong coffee in the plane’s compact galley. Despite the whine of the engines, Steve must have heard her stirring. He raised his seat back to a sitting position and pushed aside a fleece blanket. “I hope you made enough for everyone.”
“There’s plenty. You’ve been asleep for three hours. Are you ready to start your day?”
“Is it daylight?”
“The sun’s peeking over the horizon.”
“That means it’s officially coffee time.”
She filled his mug, went to the rear of the cabin, and took the seat facing him. He’d located and pulled a tray table from a hidden compartment to his left.
She stated the obvious. “Good, you figured out the table. Coffee is at your two o’clock.”
