Foal Play: A Mystery (17 page)

“You remember how I taught you to start?” Colleen barely heard Miss Kennedy say.

“With the shape of the face?” the girl asked.

“Right. So was the shape like this?”

The room fell quiet. After that, the only words Colleen could make out were “round,” “long nose,” and an occasional “uh-huh.” She saw from Bill’s expression that he wasn’t hearing any more than she was. At least he’s seeing them, she thought. Now she wished she had taken her chances next to him.

Miss Kennedy and the girl worked in private in the kitchen, whispering back and forth for the next fifteen minutes. In that time, Colleen had shifted her weight several times, Myrtle had become engrossed in an art history book, the father and mother had fought back tears, and Bill had remained a statue. Finally, they heard the sounds of chairs scraping on the floor and approaching footsteps.

Miss Kennedy and Ashley appeared in the doorway. “I think we’re done,” the teacher said. “She did a great job.”

Ashley beamed and ran to her parents, who hugged her tight.

“So we’re free to go?” the father asked Bill.

“If we need anything, we’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll show you out,” Miss Kennedy said and walked the parents to the door.

Myrtle joined Colleen and Bill in the doorway. “Now’s the moment of truth,” Myrtle said, inadvertently dropping her Uncle Mitch accent.

Colleen scowled at Myrtle and pointed to the teacher and girl saying good-bye. Myrtle quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

“Bye, Miss Kennedy,” Ashley said from the street.

Miss Kennedy waved to the girl, then closed the front door. Colleen was eager to see the sketch. Soon they would know what the criminal who was plaguing their island looked like.

Bill held out his hand to receive the sketch. “Thank you for your help,” he said as the teacher returned.

“I’m not done yet, Sheriff. It lacks the finishing touches.”

“No offense, Miss Kennedy, but it doesn’t need to be art.”

“The man must have a context, an environment. For that I need to finish by the water.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Bill said, losing his patience.

“You know your job, Sheriff, and I know mine. I won’t be long.” And with that the teacher was out the back door. “Oh, and Sheriff?” the group heard the teacher call from outside.

Bill started toward the back door.

“I work alone.”

Bill stopped. Colleen averted her eyes. She didn’t want to be the one who felt the brunt of his frustration, even though she had certainly contributed to it. He stood with his back to them.

“You want me to go out?” Colleen asked. “Maybe she’d feel differently with a woman.”

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“I’m sure she’ll be back in a moment,” Myrtle said, trying to ease the tension. “You know artists … they’re eccentric types.”

“That may be,” Bill said, facing them. “But I’ve had just about enough of eccentric types.”

Ouch. The comment was directed at Colleen and Myrtle, and they both knew it.

“About Myrtle and me … we can explain,” Colleen said, figuring now was as good a time as any to defend why they had deceived him.

“Nothing you say right now will help,” he said, cutting her off.

“You don’t need to make a federal case of it.”

“That’s exactly what it is. Or didn’t you notice the agents excavating heroin from the dunes?”

Colleen’s face flushed red. She could accept responsibility for hiding Myrtle but she wasn’t going to take the blame for the drugs on the beach. “That’s why I kept Myrtle hidden,” she said. “Someone tried to kill her because of what she saw at the fireworks. If they’re the same people involved with the heroin, you think they won’t try again if they know she’s still alive?”

“You should have told me,” Bill said, his jaw set.

He was right. She should have told him. She was guilty as charged.

“It’s my fault,” Myrtle said. “I should have stayed in the chief’s house like she instructed.”

“
You
should have known better, Mrs. Crepe,” Bill said.

The threesome fell into an uncomfortable silence, the kind of silence decent, otherwise reasonable people fall into when they are angry with one another. Deep down, they liked each other. They were part of the Corolla family. That’s what made moments like this difficult. Genuine feelings of hatred would have been easier to deal with.

The floorboards creaked as Colleen shifted her weight. She checked the time. It had been a while since the teacher left. “Maybe we should go see how Miss Kennedy is doing,” she said.

That was all Bill needed to hear. He spun on his heels and headed toward the back door, Colleen and Myrtle right behind him. He opened the screen door.

Colleen faced Myrtle. “Maybe you should stay out of sight.”

“Right. Of course,” Myrtle said. She let the screen door close in front of her as Colleen and Bill stepped from the back porch.

A path led through a small patch of pines toward Currituck Sound. Colleen and Bill made their way down the path in single file. They heard a rustling up ahead and stopped. Colleen peeked around Bill, expecting to see Miss Kennedy returning with her completed sketch. Instead, two wild horses emerged from the trees, crossed the path, and disappeared into the trees on the other side.

Colleen tapped on Bill’s back to get him to move again. He jerked, startled.

“Sorry,” she said. “Let’s just hurry.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

The two picked up the pace and broke into a jog.

“Miss Kennedy?” Bill called as they reached the end of the path.

Colleen and Bill emerged from the grove of trees and came to a sudden stop. Miss Kennedy was slumped over the side of an Adirondack chair. Rumpled and burned sheets from the sketch pad whirled softly around her like falling cherry blossoms.

“Oh no,” Colleen said and broke into a run.

They sprinted toward the teacher. Colleen slid to a stop, dropped to her knees, and gently lifted Miss Kennedy to an upright position. She tilted the woman’s chin. Her neck had red, finger-shaped marks on it. Colleen searched for signs of inhaled or exhaled air, then put her ear to the woman’s mouth. The teacher wasn’t breathing. Colleen pressed two fingers to the woman’s neck and checked for a pulse.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Damn,” Bill said, kicking the sand.

“Help me get her to the ground.”

She and Bill swiftly eased the teacher to the sand. Colleen pinched the woman’s nose shut, gave two long, slow breaths, and checked for breathing and a pulse. “Call it in,” she said to Bill as she positioned herself over the woman to perform CPR.

“Already on it,” he said, pulling out his cell phone.

Come on, Miss Kennedy, Colleen prayed as she began CPR. She performed the fifteen-compression, two-breath cycle four times and felt again for a pulse. Still nothing. She heard Bill on the phone and could tell her guys were on their way. Sweat trickled down her temple. She repeated cycle after cycle but the teacher was nonresponsive. The woman was dead but she couldn’t get herself to stop. She felt Bill’s hand on her shoulder.

“She’s gone,” he said.

Colleen rolled to the side and rested her arms on her knees, exhausted. She checked her watch and noted the time of Miss Kennedy’s death as the ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

“Chief McCabe … Sheriff Dorman …
I’ll speak with you now,” said DEA Special Agent Javier Garcia after stepping into the hall of the Whalehead Beach Subdivision of the Currituck County Sheriff’s Department. He signaled Colleen and Bill, then disappeared into the nearby office.

Colleen and Bill rose from the bench and made their way down the hall to Bill’s office. Bill had agreed to allow the DEA team to use his office as a temporary headquarters, as it afforded them a table around which to gather as well as privacy from the other areas of the station. Even though Special Agent Garcia had treated Bill and Colleen with professional respect, Colleen felt like a scolded pupil sent to the principal’s office. Garcia had kept them waiting in the hall for forty-five minutes and didn’t smile when they entered.

“Close the door, please,” Garcia said from the head of a large rectangular conference table.

Bill closed the door then joined Colleen at the table.

Agent Garcia rifled through a file of papers before looking up. “First off, I’d like to thank you for your cooperation in our investigation,” the special agent said. “Sometimes local jurisdictions can feel as if we’re stepping on their toes when we take over.”

Colleen and Bill nodded but said nothing.

“And I’m sorry about the loss of Rosemary Kennedy. I understand she was a beloved teacher.”

“Is the girl going to be safe?” Colleen asked, unable to contain the worry that had been building since the moment she had declared Miss Kennedy dead.

“That’s why I wanted to speak with you. We’re having trouble locating her family. It seems nobody’s been home since they left the Kennedy residence and we can’t pick up a cell phone signal.”

“You think something happened to them?” Colleen asked.

“Right now we’re more inclined to think they left town. You wouldn’t happen to know if they were planning a trip or if they have family nearby?”

Colleen shook her head.

“I believe they have relatives in the Atlanta area. You may want to check with employers or at Ashley’s school,” Bill said.

“We’re already on that,” Garcia said. “The Kennedy homicide highlights the serious nature of this case. We’d like to find the girl before the man she saw finds her first. He’s clearly dangerous.”

Colleen flashed back to the night of the fireworks and the image of the man with the gun. Was he the man that the girl had seen on the beach? And was that man the murderer of the person found in Myrtle’s house and the art teacher?

“It’s unfortunate the sketch was destroyed,” Garcia said.

Even though Agent Garcia’s tone was friendly, she could tell by the way he fixed his eyes on them that his last statement was a reprimand.

“I never should have left Miss Kennedy alone,” Bill said.

“Yes, we’ve covered that ground already. I’m interested in moving forward. We understand that you had a body wash up on the beach recently. A John Doe.”

“Chief McCabe has a lead on a possible identity that I’d like to follow up on,” Bill said.

“The John Doe may have been down from Pennsylvania for a week of fishing,” she said. “I overheard guys at the Food Lion say his wife had been calling around because he hadn’t been in touch with her. You think he’s linked to Miss Kennedy’s death?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t assume he was here to fish. Seems more likely it was a drug deal gone bad.”

Colleen was skeptical about Garcia’s theory but kept her mouth shut. It didn’t feel right to her that their John Doe came all the way down to the Outer Banks for drugs. Trafficking had been increasing in North Carolina, but it was almost exclusively inland and coming from the south, not the north. Even in the unlikely event that their John Doe was interested in buying drugs, there were plenty of stops between Pennsylvania and Corolla for that type of activity. Agent Garcia was clearly a bright man but it was obvious to Colleen from his fashionably coiffed hair, neatly pressed suit, and manicured fingernails that he wasn’t an outdoorsman.

The phone in Bill’s office rang. Bill reflexively moved to answer it, but it was Garcia who lifted the receiver. Colleen saw Bill’s jaw clench; he was cooperating with the feds but he wasn’t liking it.

“Garcia,” the agent said into the phone. “Yeah, bring him down.” Garcia hung up, crossed to the door, and opened it. “Let me know what you find out about your John Doe. And thanks again for the use of your office, Sheriff.”

Colleen and Bill stood. They were being dismissed.

“Of course,” Bill said, shaking Garcia’s hand.

Colleen and Bill left the office and proceeded down the hall. As they neared the front entrance to the station, they heard screaming. They quickened their pace, turned the corner, and discovered Crazy Charlie being brought in in handcuffs by two DEA agents.

“Bring Mr. Nuckels down here,” Garcia said.

Colleen marched toward Garcia. “Why are you bringing in Charlie?” she asked, knowing it was officially none of her business.

“We’re covering all our bases,” Garcia said, trying to move past her.

“You can’t question him,” she said, blocking Garcia.

“We can, Chief McCabe, and we will. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Colleen held her ground. “You don’t understand,” she said, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by Charlie. “Charlie sees the world differently than you and I.”

“Most suspects do,” Garcia said and signaled his agents.

Charlie kicked and screamed as the agents hauled him down the hall. Colleen worried that if he gave them too much trouble he’d be physically forced into submission.

“Charlie, calm down,” she said as the agents lugged Charlie by her.

Charlie panted and dragged his feet on the linoleum floor as the agents jerked him forward.

“This is ridiculous,” Bill said to Garcia. “Charlie’s family has lived on the island for generations. They’re decent people.”

“A lot of seemingly decent people have committed crimes. If what you’re saying is true, Mr. Nuckels has nothing to worry about.”

With that, Garcia and his agents disappeared down the hall and into Bill’s office, Charlie squirming all the way. Charlie stole one last look at Colleen and Bill before Garcia closed the office door.

Colleen stared at Charlie’s black scuff marks leading down the now empty hall. She and Bill had been shut out, literally. So much for the feds working with local law enforcement, she thought. If they really wanted to find out what was going on in Corolla, they were going to need her and Bill’s help. Islanders would clam up if pushed too hard by nattily dressed mainlanders.

She checked to be sure she and Bill were alone. “Agent Garcia didn’t ask about the fire or body at Myrtle’s house,” she said in a low voice.

“No,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“He must not think there’s a connection between that death and Miss Kennedy’s,” she said, thinking aloud.