Secrets dont sink, p.2
Secrets Don't Sink, page 2
Chapter Two
Splinters poked through my pants as I rocked side to side on the dock. I held the post-it note in my trembling fingers. My tears smudged what Holden had written so I made my best guess and texted what I hoped was his number.
It’s Audrey. Come to the docks. Hurry!
I pulled up the video again and stared at the lifeless face of my former boyfriend, Marcus Washburn.
Earlier that morning, I’d stared warily at Marcus’s unopened message as it taunted me from my Facebook inbox. It was a ritual I’d repeated several times in the days since I’d received it, unsure whether to even open it, much less respond to it. Exes were exes for a reason, and bringing one back into my orbit, particularly a married one, brought many potential landmines with it.
None of that mattered anymore, though. That message contained the last words he would ever say to me, and I suddenly, desperately needed to know why he’d reached out after so many years. I opened my phone and clicked on the message.
Hey Audrey,
Long time, huh? I hope this isn’t too awkward, but I heard you’re back in town, and I could really use your help with something. I’m working on something pretty big, and you, being a reporter and all, well, I could use your digging skills. Whether you choose to help or not, please keep this on the down-low. My wife would kill me if she knew I reached out to you. Also, you should know you can’t trust anyone in this town. I’ve been stirring a hornet’s nest, and it’s already gotten me in some trouble. If you choose not to respond, I’ll understand. As always, I want only the best for you. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still look for you wherever I go. Old habits die hard, I guess, but I’m perfectly capable of keeping things strictly professional, I promise. Let me know if you’re willing to meet so I can explain in person. I’m not comfortable discussing what’s going on any other way. You never know who might be reading or listening.
Marcus
What investigation could he possibly be doing? What did he mean by being in trouble? Had he always been so paranoid?
I clicked on his Facebook profile. In the dozen or so years since I’d last seen him in person, Marcus’s black hair had become flecked with silver. Though only thirty-two, his skin sagged from the fatigue of a difficult life, and dark circles rimmed his heavy-lidded brown eyes.
He’d posted photos of his wife and kids, three boys ranging in age from preschool to about ten. His wife, Renee, had a scowl in almost every picture, perpetually miserable, angry, or both. Renee and I had never been friendly, not because I’d once dated her now-husband but because her animosity toward me went all the way back to some unresolved middle school drama. She hadn’t outgrown her less-than-sparkling personality.
No wonder Marcus didn’t want her to know he’d messaged me.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and my phone buzzed with a text from Anderson.
“Any luck?”
I glanced in the direction of Marcus’s body lying mere feet from me. Nothing about the situation felt lucky. I’d exited the marina office and stumbled into a nightmare.
Shock had robbed time of all meaning, so although it felt like an hour, it was probably only a few minutes later when I heard urgent footsteps pounding on the boardwalk.
I looked up as Holden approached me from behind the Port Authority building. He’d showered since I’d last seen him, and his hair glistened. His sweaty workout clothes had been replaced by the khaki pants and collared polo shirt he’d carried in his bag. His frenzied gaze darted from me to the crowd and back again.
I stood on wobbly legs as he came near. Without hesitation, he opened his arms and pulled me close. My heart thumped, and my shoulders shuddered with each hyperventilating gasp.
“Audrey, are you okay? What happened?”
My response came out with a stuttered whoosh. “I…I came to see…pe…people were crowded around…Mm…Marcus. Holden, it’s Marcus. Ma-Marcus W-Washburn.”
“What do you mean? What about Marcus?”
“He’s…he’s not breathing. He’s blue. No, purple. Sort of grayish. He’s d-dead. Oh, gawd, Holden, Marcus is dead.” My teeth chattered as I babbled.
His arms went slack around me. I pulled back to scan his face. He’d donned the guise of a public official.
I wiped my tears from his polo, brushing his chest with my fingertips. When he’d pulled it out of his duffle bag earlier, the shirt had appeared black, but now stretched across his body in broad daylight, it looked navy blue.
“Stay here, Audrey.” His tone left no room for rebuttal.
I stood with leaden feet anchored to the spot, swaying like a buoy in the eye of a hurricane.
Holden gestured for the crowd to back away from the body, and they complied. The Port Authority officer gave him a smile of relief and gratitude. He’d done what he could to contain the crowd, but his efforts had been disregarded for the most part.
Holden pulled out his phone and made a call. While speaking to whoever was on the other end, he crouched next to Marcus and gently pressed two fingers to his throat. He dropped his head and rubbed his eyes. He stood again when several Chattertowne policemen rushed down the gangplank toward the scene.
One of the officers wasn’t in as much of a rush. She ambled over to Holden like she’d just dismounted a horse following a long ride across the prairie. She leaned in and whispered something to him. He shook his head in response, and she pulled away, grim-faced. She ran her hand across the top of her head, shorn in a military-style buzz cut.
I plopped to the ground like a deflated balloon. I’d known it in my gut, but the confirmation still felt like a terrible blow.
Marcus was dead.
Marcus, who’d sent me a message saying he was in trouble, but I’d ignored it, blowing him off like an annoying gnat.
I tried to focus on my breathing but found it difficult to fill my lungs. The air smelled like rotting seaweed, making deep breaths quite unpleasant. Panic, adrenaline, and grief clashed in cacophony with the beat of my heart.
Holden squatted in front of me, his warm brown eyes searching mine.
“Audrey.” Angst and concern shadowed his face. “Why don’t you go sit on that bench over there? I’ve got to talk to these guys for a few more minutes, and it can’t be comfortable for you to be sitting on the ground. I want you to wait for me so I can walk you to your car.”
I nodded, and he pulled me to my feet. I stumbled over to the bench and slumped onto it, noticing too late the pool of melted chocolate ice cream.
“Who eats ice cream outside in February?” I scowled.
It was petty, but somehow focusing my anger and irritation at the thoughtless person who’d left behind a mess gave me a momentary respite from grief.
Since the police had taped off the scene, it was harder to get a clear glimpse of their activity, and the crowd began to thin.
I glanced across the river to where a cargo ship was anchored, stacked high with blue, orange, and red containers looking like giant LEGO bricks. I began to read the information on their sides to distract myself, like counting sheep, but less relaxing.
It didn’t work.
Unbidden memories of my past relationship with Marcus floated to the surface.
We’d dated briefly after high school. Once the initial flutter of romance had subsided, I’d known we weren’t meant to last. I had ambitions and dreams of leaving Chattertowne, while Marcus made it clear he was content to stay forever. His aspirations began and ended with creating the family he’d never had growing up. He’d wanted me to set aside my dreams to become his wife and mother to his children. I felt too young to settle down and suffocated under the weight of his vision for our lives together. Sometimes I wondered if he was looking for me to be a mother to him since the one he’d had was incapable of being what he needed.
The breakup was brutal. If he’d yelled and called me names or said what a terrible person I was, I wouldn’t have felt so guilty. Instead, he’d just looked sad and lost. I’d even considered punching him in the arm to see if I could get him angry at me.
Angry.
Jerking upright and nearly falling off the bench, I waved at Holden who was standing next to the female officer. When he spotted my theatrics, he said something to her, and she gave me the once-over.
He jogged over to me. “What’s up?”
“I just realized I may have seen something.”
He sat next to me and slanted his head to give me full attention.
“Well, maybe it’s nothing, but it could be something,” I said.
He tucked his chin, arched his eyebrow, and pursed his full lips.
“There was a man. I saw him this morning when he cut me off.”
He blinked. “A man. Can you be more specific? Cut you off in what way?”
Despite obvious skepticism, he was actively listening and so focused on me that I found it difficult to maintain eye contact. I attempted to find something other than his mouth or eyes to focus on—a mole, a blemish, even a freckle—but his tan skin was nearly flawless other than the half-inch scar slicing through his right brow. How did he get the scar? Judging by those lips, probably kissing someone he shouldn’t have.
He impatiently cleared his throat. “Audrey?”
“Oh, uh, I was waiting for someone to pull out of a spot in front of City Hall…by the way, parking’s the worst down here. You really should do something about that.”
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s on my list. Tell me about the man, please.”
“Well, he busted out from an alley, pulled in front of me, and took my parking spot. I was about to honk at him, but the look he gave me…the glare….” I shuddered at the memory.
“What does this have to do with Marcus? One mean look and bad manners isn’t cause for suspicion.”
“You’d have to have seen him. Anger radiated off him.” I paused. “Do you think Marcus’s death was an accident or something more nefarious?”
Holden sighed and rubbed his neck. “I don’t know anything for sure yet, but I’m thinking he didn’t just fall in and drown. He has a large gash and signs of blunt force trauma on his head. The injury could’ve happened after he fell in, but my guess–and, at this point it’s only a guess–is he fell in because of the head injury. Whether he hit his head by accident or someone hit him on purpose, I don’t think we’ll have those answers for a bit.”
“You know, his dad….”
He nodded. “That thought did occur to me.”
“What thought occurred to you?”
Holden stood and acknowledged the officer with a head nod. “Kimball, this is Audrey O’Connell. She was also a friend of Marcus Washburn’s. The three of us go way back, to high school.”
Kimball loomed over me. She wasn’t tall for a police officer, 5’6 or so, but she had girth. Not fat, just sturdy.
“If you have information that might aid the investigation, Ms. O’Connell, you should share it.”
I blinked up at her. “D-did you grow up in Chattertowne?”
“Sort of. I went away to boarding school for a while.” She folded her arms and splayed her feet. “Why?”
“I figured if you had, you’d have heard the stories about what happened to Marcus’s dad, David Washburn.”
“Probably but refresh my memory.”
“Marcus’s dad went missing when he was a baby. His car was found abandoned down here.” I indicated the marina parking lot. “By itself, it wouldn’t have created much of a stir. However, it happened only a few weeks after Jimmy Chatterton was found floating in the Jeannetta River. My mom told me even though Jimmy’s death was ruled a suicide, once David disappeared, most people in town believed the two events must somehow be connected. At the time of his death, Jimmy was under investigation for possible criminal activity related to the port, and David worked down here.”
Holden gestured toward me. “Audrey, explain why you think there was something suspicious about the man you saw earlier besides his scary vibe and bad parking manners.”
“You saw a man. What man? Where?” Kimball narrowed her eyes.
“Yeah, well, after he stole my parking spot and had the audacity to glare at me, I ran into him again. Literally. No, more like he ran into me. Over there.” I pointed toward the corner of the building. “I didn’t see him coming until he was practically on top of me. I had to jump out of his way to avoid getting knocked over.”
“He was leaving the scene quickly?” Holden folded his arms across his chest.
“Well, I don’t know if he was leaving the scene.” I made air quotes. “He was headed back toward where he’d parked, and he seemed even angrier than the first time I saw him.”
Kimball shifted her feet farther apart and rocked back on her heels. “Can you describe him? What about his car?”
“He was driving an old red pickup truck. Not like the rusty work trucks of the farmers drinking at Jim’s Saloon, but a collectible classic. He was short, I’d say five-four or five-five at most, with a heavily receding hairline and a nasty scowl.”
Holden grimaced, released a soul-weary sigh, and muttered an expletive. He shook his head and sighed again.
Kimball’s face was unreadable. One of the other officers called her name.
“Duty calls. Thanks for the info. I’ll be wanting your official statement in the next day or so.”
She jogged back to where Marcus’s body still lay on the ground.
I shivered and pulled my jacket closed. Holden joined me on the bench and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me against him. His warmth and scent brought comfort like a wool blanket and a thermos of spicy tea after a chilly walk in the woods. It was a vast improvement from the putrid odor of decaying fish.
At one point, another officer, Charlie Jacobs, came over to speak to us. Apparently, he and Holden had both pledged Omega Psi Phi at Washington State University.
Charlie asked me, “Did Holden ever mention he used his fraternity paddle to pry open an old window in the back of the Creamery and stole a box of Cougar Cheese tins? This dude, man.”
Holden held up a finger. “Allegedly. Nothing was ever conclusively proven.”
“Back to the matter at hand.” Charlie pulled out his notebook and cleared his throat. “So, Audrey, describe to me what you saw earlier.”
I repeated my story about the angry little man for the third time that day. Charlie jotted a few notes, took my phone number, and told me someone would be in touch to set up a full interview to take my statement.
As Jacobs walked back toward Kimball, an official-looking woman marched down the docks with two young men following close behind.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“That’s Daphne Pierce. She’s the coroner. She’s also Kimball’s ex,” Holden said.
Daphne approached Kimball, who stiffened at the sight of her. The interaction looked icy. They exchanged a few words, and then Daphne examined Marcus. She directed the men who’d arrived with her to encase his body in a black plastic bag.
One of the Kohler boys, Seth, had come to oversee the removal of the body. The Kohler family owned the only funeral home in town, a multi-generational business run by Samuel Kohler and his two sons, Seth and Abel. Seth, the eldest son, had a long, solemn face which reminded me of a basset hound.
The Kohler family was a prime example that the pull of family obligations was never to be underestimated. Seth had once aspired to be a chef, but instead of creating culinary masterpieces, he had to babysit a corpse. Every day he bore witness to both the culminating moments of lives well-lived, and the tragic end of hopes and dreams left unfulfilled. The latter, I supposed, served as a constant reminder of all Seth had given up out of family loyalty and perceived duty. He spent the bulk of his time in the presence of death and carried with him the sorrowful resignation of a man who’d relinquished control over his own life.
I gasped when they lifted Marcus onto the stretcher, and Holden tightened his grip on my shoulder. The wheeled gurney thumped hauntingly over each plank of the boardwalk as it carried his body under the yellow caution tape, past the lingering ambulance chasers, toward the waiting aid car.
Holden pulled me to standing. He let go of one hand while still holding onto the other. We followed the somber march of the officers and coroner staff escorting the body from a respectable distance. Red lights flashed ahead on the street, but there was no siren and no rush because there was no life to save.
Just before we reached the street, Darren rounded the corner of the City Hall building and came to a screeching halt as he caught sight of us.
“Audrey?” He glanced at our hands, and his eyes flashed.
I released Holden’s grasp. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve got a police scanner app on my phone for breaking news. I heard they found a body, so I ran right down.”
“You ran? You haven’t even broken a sweat.”
He shrugged. “I stay cool.”
“Wait. Did you say you have an app for breaking news…in business and finance?”
“You’d be surprised.” He glanced at Holden and then back at me. “Speaking of surprises, what are you doing here?”
“Anderson asked me to bring a check to the marina office for his boat slip rental. That’s when I saw…” The words caught in my throat.
Darren grabbed my arm, pulling me to him and away from Holden. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
We’d never hugged before, and although not an entirely unpleasant experience, it was awkward, particularly in front of Holden.
“You ran all the way over here from the paper?” Holden remained locked onto Darren’s previous statement.
“I was in the area.” Darren reached his hand out to Holden while keeping his other arm wrapped possessively around my shoulders. “Forgive me for being rude. Darren Benson. And you are?”
Holden hesitated before gripping Darren’s hand. “Holden Villalobos. We’ve actually met before, Benson. At the Chamber’s Christmas party.”
“He’s the city manager,” I said.
Darren’s jaw clenched and released. “Mmm, yes, I vaguely recall. You have that lovely fiancée. Emma, is it?”
