Read Footprints in the Sand Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
Footprints in the Sand (7 page)
W
alking to the water’s edge, Brad stuck his bare foot into the now-calm waters of the Gulf. Very cool, but not truly cold. He looked up at the sky. The sun was shining brightly.
The morning had been dead, but Brad had hopes that the afternoon would improve. It was the season, after all, and the snowbirds would be desperate to get to the beach. Kayaks and paddleboards provided the chance for exercise as well as a suntan.
He liked having the beach to himself, but he was relieved when he saw people begin straggling onto the stretch of white sand. They carried their towels and chairs and umbrellas, willing to lug all that paraphernalia for the opportunity to soak up some rays.
He wondered if Piper Donovan would be coming out to sun herself this afternoon. That white skin of hers could use a little color. He’d love to see Piper in a bikini. She might even look better in one than Shelley had.
P
iper and Kathy escorted Mrs. Golubock into her town house. Roz held on to the wrought-iron railing as she walked slowly down the few steps that led to the living room. She lowered herself gingerly into the rocker by the sliding-glass door.
“Maybe we should give your daughter a call and tell her what happened,” suggested Kathy.
“Oh, no. I don’t want to bother Roberta. She’ll want to get on a plane and fly right down here. I’m absolutely fine. Really I am.”
“How about we get you something to eat?” asked Piper. “I can run down to Anna’s Deli. What kind of sandwich would you like?”
Roz shook her head as she gazed out at the water. “No thank you, Piper,” she said. “I have plenty of food in the kitchen. I just have to make sure to eat it. I haven’t had much of an appetite for the last few days.”
“I think that paramedic is right, Roz,” said Kathy. “You should see a doctor.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m going to call Dr. Robbins.”
“I had a checkup just last month,” Roz murmured. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing physical anyway.”
“Well, what
is
bothering you?” Piper asked gently. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help.”
Roz looked at each of them and realized that it would be a relief to relate what she had seen the other night.
“Would you stay and have a cup of tea with me?” asked Roz. “I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.”
T
hey learned their lesson the hard way. The giant sand castle they’d spent hours building the day before was completely gone. The seashell-studded turrets and deep moat had been washed away by the wind, rain, and surf.
“Guys, let’s build another one—a better one,” said the sunburned college kid on midterm break. “But not so close to the water this time.”
The four fraternity brothers carried their towels and the plastic ice buckets they’d pilfered from their hotel rooms up the beach. They stopped at an area near the vegetation line.
“This looks like a good place. And the sand is still moist. Great for packing.”
“Let’s make it twice as big as the one we made yesterday, and let’s get really into it with the decorations. You guys start digging, and I’ll search around for some cool shells and stuff.”
“Why do
we
have to do all the manual labor?”
“Bro, you’re an idiot. You go search for shells, and I’ll stay here with these guys and get the important stuff done.”
Within an hour they had molded dozens of sand blocks and stacked them in towers of varying heights. One of the boys went down to the shoreline, filled his bucket with water, and blended it with sand. He drizzled the mixture on the tops of the towers to form tall Gothic spires.
“Hey, dudes, I found a load of shark teeth,” called the one who had gone in search of decorations as he returned. “They’ll be wicked on top of the castle wall, like spikes to keep out the barbarians.”
When they were finished, they stood back to observe their handiwork and marvel at the architectural triumph.
“I gotta go get my iPhone,” said one. “I wanna take a picture of this.”
“Wait! We’re not done yet. We have to dig the moat.”
I
can see why you’d be worried,” said Piper, pretending she hadn’t heard the story at dinner the night before. “I’d be terrified, too, if I saw somebody going into the bushes with a body slung over his shoulder.”
“It’s probably too late now,” said Roz, putting down her teacup. “I should have called the minute I saw it. But I didn’t want to trouble the sheriff’s deputies again.”
“Again?” asked Piper.
“Well, I’ve called them several times about one thing or another since my Sam died. I could tell the last time that the officer was just humoring me.”
“It’s their
job
to help,” said Piper.
“Let’s call right now,” said Kathy. “They should know if someone is prowling around here. And, God forbid, what if what you saw had something to do with my friend Shelley’s disappearance?”
A
murderous creature loomed ferociously from the screen in the Mote Marine Aquarium lecture hall. The marine biologist at the front of the room continued with his presentation on some of the most dangerous sea life in the world.
“This is a tiger shark,” explained Dan Clemens. “It’s a savage predator capable of devouring fish, seals, other sharks, and even birds flying
above
the water. It has powerful jaws that can easily crush a sea turtle or other marine mammal.”
Dan directed his laser pointer at the shark’s eyes. “Tiger sharks have excellent vision and sense of smell, which allow them to locate a drop of blood in an area the size of a football field.”
A white-haired man in the front row raised his hand. “Are there tiger sharks around here?”
“This tiger shark was found near the Central Pacific islands,” said Dan. “But make no mistake, there are various shark species in the Gulf of Mexico. And while sharks usually avoid human beings and attacks are exceedingly rare, there are things you should do to further lessen the chance. On your way out today, pick up one of our free pamphlets on the subject.”
Dan continued with the show. Sea snakes could paralyze their enemies. Moray eels possessed teeth designed to tear flesh. Stingrays hid under the sand on the ocean floor before shooting their prey with poison. A blue-ringed octopus was strangely beautiful but carried enough venom to kill twenty-six people. Puffer-fish toxins were more powerful than cyanide.
“The toxins paralyze the victim. It’s not a pretty picture. Sweating, headaches, tremors, seizures, cardiac arrhythmias, and respiratory failure. Although completely paralyzed, the victim may be conscious and lucid before death, able to see and hear but unable to speak or move. It’s a horrible way to die.”
Vin’s hand shot up again. “Is there any treatment?”
“No antidote has been approved for human use yet,” said Dan. “Treatment usually involves pumping out the stomach and taking standard life-support measures to keep the victim alive until the effects of the poison wear off. Not everyone dies.
If
the patient survives twenty-four hours, he’ll usually live. But that’s a very big if.”
A
flash of scarlet caught their eyes. They dug farther, recoiling in horror when they saw what it was. The bright red was painted on a human toenail. Openmouthed, the fraternity brothers drew closer together and stared into the trench.
“What the . . . ?”
“No way!”
One of them reached down, cautiously pushing away more sand, revealing the rest of the foot. A delicate gold bracelet encircled a thin ankle. He recoiled and dropped his plastic bucket.
“We can’t dig anymore,” he commanded. “We gotta call the cops.”
W
hile she and Kathy waited with Roz for the deputy from the sheriff’s department to arrive, Piper took the plates and teacups into the kitchen. As she was rinsing them, she glanced up and looked out the window over the sink. Three law-enforcement vehicles came careening down the driveway, emergency lights flashing.
“They’re here already,” Piper called to Roz and Kathy. “But I can’t believe they’ve sent three cars.”
The white sedans came to a stop in front of Roz’s unit. The deputies got out and hurried right past the town house, running into the vegetation at the side of the property. Piper quickly dried her hands and returned to the living room.
“They aren’t here for us,” she said. “I’m going out to see what’s happening.”
P
iper joined the small crowd that had gathered on the beach, watching as officers cordoned off an area of sand and foliage with stakes and yellow tape. She noticed Brad O’Hara standing on the periphery of the group. He was shirtless despite the cool breeze. Piper went over to talk to him, getting a clear view of the crying woman’s face tattooed on his arm.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Some kids found a body,” he answered flatly, his eyes glued to the crime scene.
Standing on tiptoe and craning her neck, Piper watched as the officers shoveled, carefully placing the sand they dug up into piles. Two men dressed in street clothes crouched at the edge of the pit looking down into it, while another took photographs.
“Okay, everybody. Stand back,” ordered one of the deputies. “Stand back!”
The spectators obeyed, but just barely. Piper separated herself from the crowd and then inconspicuously made her way to a spot where she could get a better view. She noticed that Brad had followed her.
“Oh, dear God!” cried an onlooker as the sand-covered body was lifted from the hole. The dead woman’s eyes were closed. Her skin was gray, and her matted dark hair hung long and loose. She was dressed in a short skirt and a yellow cotton sweater, which stretched tightly across her chest. Her feet were bare, and her arms were stiff. Piper noticed there were several rings on her fingers and a small tattoo on her left hand in the space between the thumb and forefinger. Piper couldn’t make out the design. She was trying to identify the mark when Brad O’Hara stepped forward.
“I know who she is,” he said. “Her name is Shelley Hart.”
P
iper stood by and was able to listen while one of the officers questioned Brad.
“I’ve known Shelley since we were at Sarasota High together,” Brad said. “We hung out. In fact, I was with her when she got that little cupid tattoo on her hand.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I might as well tell you—if you ask around, you’ll find out—I’ve done a stretch in jail.”
“For what?” asked the deputy.
“Dealing,” answered Brad. “But that was years ago—I’m totally legit now. You can confirm all that.”
The deputy showed no reaction. “When had you seen Ms. Hart last?” he asked.
“Last week,” said Brad. “She came over to the pavilion where I run my business. She wanted to make sure that I had enough kayaks for a wedding group that would be staying at the inn.”
“When exactly was that?”
Brad thought back and calculated. “I think it was last Tuesday.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” asked the deputy. “Did she seem upset or worried about anything?”
Brad shook his head. “No, she seemed like Shelley.”
“Which means what?” asked the deputy.
“Look, she didn’t stay long or talk to me about much. Shelley spoke to me only if she absolutely had to. After I went to prison, she pretty much washed her hands of me.”
P
iper took out her phone and snapped a picture. Distasteful as it was, a photo of a crime scene would get lots of comments from her Facebook friends.
W
alter’s heart sank as he stood at his office window and watched the people striding past the inn on their way up the beach. Word had spread quickly. Everyone was curious about the unearthing of a dead body. They wanted to see the site and be able to tell their friends.
Surely there would be stories on the news tonight and in the newspaper tomorrow morning. While interest in both the event and the investigation would be high in the short run, Walter worried about the long-term effect of the discovery. Would it ultimately be bad for business? Would people recoil from staying at a place so closely associated with something so horrible?
The phone rang. Walter turned away from the window, went to his desk, and picked up the receiver. The woman identified herself as a reporter with the local television station.
“Mr. Engel, I’m hoping you would be willing to do a short interview with us about the woman found buried on the beach at the end of the Whispering Sands property. I’ve just about finished shooting at the scene and could be over to your office within half an hour.”
Calculating, Walter quickly decided it would be better to accept the request. He could take the opportunity to declare how shocked and saddened everyone at the inn was and simultaneously give reassurances that the Whispering Sands Inn was a safe and totally reputable establishment. What was that saying?
Any publicity is good publicity.
If he declined, it could look as if he had something to hide.
W
alter was waiting in the lobby to greet the reporter. She carried a black equipment bag and a tripod over her shoulder.
“Where’s your crew?” he asked, glancing behind her.
The reporter laughed. “There is no crew. Only me.”
Walter looked at her quizzically.
“Budget cuts and advanced technology,” she said. “I shoot the pictures, conduct the interviews, write the story, and edit the piece all by my little ol’ self.” She glanced at her watch. “Shall we get started?”
The reporter surveyed the room and decided that the area was too dark. With time at a premium, she didn’t want to bother setting up extra lighting and suggested they go outside instead. Walter led the way.
“How about here?” he asked. “With the Gulf in the background.”
She set up her tripod and attached the camera to it. When she had it positioned properly and had fastened a microphone to Walter’s shirt, she announced she was ready to go.
“I’ll stand behind the camera and ask you questions,” she said. “Ready?”
Walter took a deep breath and nodded.
“Mr. Engel, the body hasn’t been formally identified, but a man on the beach said he recognized the young woman. He wouldn’t appear on camera, but he said she’s Shelley Hart and she worked here at the Whispering Sands Inn.”
Swallowing hard, Walter paused for a few minutes before answering. “Until there is a formal identification, I wouldn’t want to comment on that,” he said.
“What was Shelley Hart’s job here?” asked the reporter.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to comment.”
“Why not?” asked the reporter. “What does it hurt to disclose the dead woman’s employment?”
“Because Shelley Hart has not been identified. Until that time comes, Ms. Lehane, I’m not going to talk about her.”
The reporter shrugged and took another tack. “All right. What do you think about a dead body being discovered on your property? We can agree to that much, can’t we?”
“Of course. This is a terrible thing, a tragic thing. It’s especially upsetting since it’s so close to home. Unfortunately, things like this happen too much in our society. It could happen anywhere.”
“One more question, Mr. Engel. Do you have an opinion as to who might have wanted to kill Shelley Hart?”
Damn this woman. She just won’t give up, will she?
Walter hesitated before sputtering out his answer. “Shelley is the kind of woman . . . I mean, she wasn’t the kind of woman . . .” He stopped to compose himself before completing his comment. “
If
it is Shelley—and that’s a very big if—I don’t know the answer to your question. I can’t imagine who would want her dead.”