Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) (8 page)

"Well, I guess I did comb it this morning." My hair looked exactly as it had the last twenty-thousand times she'd seen me: shoulder-length and naturally curly, with a few gnarly strands that had a mind of their own and stuck out at unnatural angles. The color is best described as that of a grey squirrel's tail: a mixture of grey and brown, with a few white and black hairs thrown in for good measure. At sixty-eight, I was at that stage in life when my original dark brown hair knew it was time to turn into a lighter color but was fighting the transition every step of the way. Personally, I could care less about it changing, even though, if I had my druthers, it would turn a pretty shade of white rather than mousey grey.

"Well, it's a very good style for you, Mom," Reggie said. "It highlights your beautiful blue eyes."

I didn't know how my mop of multi-colored hair could highlight my denim-blue eyes, but I had to agree my eyes were one of my most becoming features. I knew this was Reggie's way of apologizing for the way she'd treated us on Saturday. Despite my valiant efforts to teach her, she had never learned to pronounce the words, "I'm sorry." It must have been the double "R" that stymied her.

"At least she still
has
some hair," my nearly bald husband quipped.

"Ha, ha. You're so funny, Dad. You're one of those men who still look like a young handsome stud, even without hair." It seemed that Reggie's father was on the receiving line of Reggie's sweet-talking attempt for forgiveness as well.
Young, handsome stud?
Rip
? I thought.
Wow! Reggie's really on a roll.
I watched as Rip straightened his shoulders and sucked in his belly roll, grinning like he'd just been awarded his own star on Hollywood's walk of fame.

"You really think so?" Rip asked, oblivious to the actual motive behind his daughter's flattery.

"Well, yeah. For an old guy, that is." After that reply, I could actually hear Rip's ego deflating, like air whooshing out of an over-inflated tire. Even Reggie realized she'd just stepped in it because she continued with, "I meant that in a good way, of course. Seriously, Dad, you've got it going on."

"Yeah, right," Rip replied, no doubt wondering how one could be called an old guy in a good way. Before she could put her foot in her mouth again, Reggie became the thoughtful hostess.

"I'm sorry. You two must be very thirsty. Can I get you something to drink while we wait for Milo? How about a diet cranberry and pomegranate green tea? Or, perhaps a Monster energy drink? We've got Red Bull, also."

You've got what
? Reggie already believed her parents still lingered in the Stone Age, so I just shook my head and replied, "I'm good. Thanks, anyway."

"Got any plain old black coffee?" Rip asked. With their single cup brewer, it felt like only a matter of seconds before Reggie returned with a steaming cup of dark coffee. She knew her dad liked his coffee hot and robust.

"Oh, and I made a pan of those double chocolate brownies you love so much," Reggie said lovingly to Rip. She was practically fawning over her father now, and had been so friendly and overly polite to me that I was beginning to get concerned about the nature of this pow-wow with her and Milo. I knew nothing good could come of this over-the-top reception we were receiving.

"Thanks, babe. They'd go great with this coffee." Rip smiled at his beaming daughter, who then virtually skipped out of the room on her way back to the kitchen to retrieve a plate of brownies. Rip was a pushover when it came to sweets. You could lead him to hell and back if you dangled an apple fritter in front of his face.

After she'd left the living room, Rip turned to me and said, "I wonder if Reggie and Milo know there's a stranger in their kitchen. I don't know who that woman is, but I like her. I hope her brownies are as good as Reggie's."

"You're not beginning to get at least a little apprehensive?"

"Yes, I admit it's scary, but how bad could it be? I'm sure the reason Milo asked us over has to do with Cooper's death, but I haven't been able to connect the dots yet."

"Maybe that's because visions of brownies are dancing in your head. Speaking about Reggie's most recent mood swing, it sure doesn't seem as if she's very upset about her husband's best friend and business partner's brutal death, does it? Surely Milo has told her about it, wouldn't you think?"

Reggie reentered the room before Rip could respond. She placed the plate on the coffee table directly in front of Rip and calmly asked, "Can I get you anything else, Dad? How about you, Mom? I've got some fresh grapefruit from the valley."

Rip shook his head, and I replied for both of us, "This is more than enough for us, sweetheart. Have a seat and relax. How are you holding up with Cooper's death, and all?"

"I'm fine. Never cared much for him to begin with, Mom." Reggie's quick response made it clear she wouldn't be losing too much sleep over Cooper Claypool's grim demise. I listened as she elaborated. "It seemed like Milo and Cooper had been disagreeing on every single business decision the last several months. It's kept Milo so uptight that he's been hard to live with at times. Recently, he's been upset so much of the time and wigging out over the tiniest things. When he's stressed out, he's not much fun to be around. Sure you guys don't need anything else?"

"I'm good," we both replied in stereo. It was evident Reggie didn't want to go into details about the business decisions behind the frequent disputes between the two men, so I let the subject drop. It occurred to me she might not even know what the problematic issues were.

"Okay. Just checking, in case you changed your mind about trying some of my green tea."

"No, but thank you, sweetheart."
And, by the way, dear. Your diet cranberry and pomegranate green tea sounds absolutely god-awful
.

"Hey, Dad. Did I tell you we decided against buying a new car?"

"Oh, really? How come?" I asked. I was curious if her "we decided" might be more a matter of "Milo decided for us."

Her next remark sounded stilted and rehearsed but I was relieved to hear it. "My car is still in like-new condition and—"

"That's what I tried to tell—umph—" Rip exhaled loudly as I elbowed him in the ribs. He spat out a morsel of brownie he hadn't swallowed yet.

Ignoring her father, Reggie added, "I don't really need a new one right now, anyway. Maybe in a couple of years or so we'll reconsider getting a new one."

"That's nice. I'm sure that's probably the best decision." I tried to be as nonchalant as I could, as if their decision to put off buying a new vehicle didn't matter to me one way or the other. Rip, however, tends to be a little less subtle.

"Damn straight!" He exclaimed. "Buying a new car right now would be downright foolish. We tried to tell you umpteen times that—umpth—"

I elbowed him in the sweet spot again before he could say any more. It caused him to choke a little on the brownie he'd just stuffed into his mouth, but it effectively shut him up. "Zip it," I said under my breath. I didn't want him to say anything that might provoke Regina's evil twin sister to re-emerge. As he'd been speaking, I could see Reggie's ire building with each word. I swear I saw a tiny smoke ring drift out of her left ear. No sense fanning the fire after we'd almost distinguished it.

With perfect timing, Milo walked into the room and took a seat in a recliner. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all the previous night. His discomfort was also apparent. His eyes darted around the room, never settling on any one spot for more than a few seconds or making contact with anyone else's in the room. Finally, after taking a deep breath, Milo spoke. "You've probably heard the Coast Guard located Coop's boat this morning and towed it in to the marina for processing."

Rip nodded, but made no comment.

"Um, well, uh, I want..." Milo seemed unable to form a full sentence. He looked around the room.

Impatient, Rip asked, "What is it, son? What do you want?"

Is Rip thinking the same thing I am
? I wondered, my entire body tensing.
Could Milo be preparing to turn himself in to the authorities for murdering his best friend
?
He'd appeared sincere in his grief yesterday. Could he be a better actor than we gave him credit for?
I watched as he tried to speak coherently.

"Um, well, you see. I, um, wanted to thank you for coming over this afternoon. I honestly know nothing about what happened to Coop and need to ask a favor of you, Rip," Milo said.

Phew! I let out an audible sigh of relief at his remark. I'd been dreading a confession of guilt.

"Anything," Rip answered. I felt a shiver run up my back. That one-word response had come back to bite us in the keister more times than I could count.

"Well, you were the former sheriff of the police department here."

"Yes, I was aware of that," Rip replied dryly.

Without skipping a beat, Milo continued, "For what? About fifteen years?"

"Ten. But I was in law enforcement here in Aransas County for thirty-seven."

"I'm assuming you still know a lot of the detectives here."

"Yes, of course I do."

"And you're probably familiar with at least a few of them who'll be working on this case."

"Yes, I am."

"And I imagine you still have a lot of pull with the—"

"Not necessarily," Rip interrupted. And with an impatient, drawn-out sigh, he added, "Cut to the chase, son. What do you want from me?"

"Well, I just, um, just want, you know, to maybe get a copy of the autopsy report when it's available. After all, I was not only his best friend and business partner, but I'm also the person who discovered his body. Or... you, Rapella, and I found it, I should say."

"This is a homicide case we're talking about here. The authorities don't just pass out copies of the autopsy report to any Tom, Dick, or Larry who walks in the—"

"Harry," I corrected.

With an expression of annoyance, Rip turned to me and asked, "What? Harry? Who's that?"

"You just used the phrase Tom, Dick, or Larry, and it's—"

"Whatever," Rip replied before dismissing me with an exasperated wave of his hand. As soon as the words had left my mouth, I sensed Rip wouldn't appreciate being corrected, even though he was the one who often accused me of using every cliché in the book.
At least I use them correctly
, I thought with a huff.

Rip turned back to Milo and continued. "It's already available; the medical examiner completed the autopsy early this morning. But I have no way to access a copy of the report. Nor do you. Particularly since you are probably high on their list of possible suspects."

"What?" Milo and Reggie exclaimed in stereo. Milo looked as if he'd just been informed he had an inoperable ovarian cyst. "How do you know that?"

"I stopped by the station on the way here and spoke with Branson Reeves, the lead detective on the case. He's an old buddy of mine. He's been on the force almost as long as I was. Branson told me the medical examiner determined Cooper's death most likely took place somewhere between four and six on Saturday afternoon. He'd noted that the postmortem rigidity was already beginning to dissipate and the body was regaining flexibility by the time it arrived at the morgue last night. That led him to believe Cooper's death had occurred at least twenty-four hours before the three of us located his body. As we were already aware, he told Branson that along with the fatal wound caused by the spear-gun, there were abrasions on the victim's hands and face and a gash on the back of his head. Both of the latter injuries were prior to the mortal spear wound, as we already knew."

Milo paused for a moment to wipe away a tear before he said, "That's awful, but why would they suspect me of killing him? Coop was my best friend, from way back in high school, not to mention my business partner."

"Exactly! You just explained why you're a suspect, son," Rip explained. "It's
because
you were Cooper Claypool's best friend and business partner. That automatically makes you a suspect, just like a murder victim's spouse or significant other is always evaluated for motives and alibis. The vast majority of homicides involve people who are closely associated. Seldom is a murder committed by a random stranger. And, of those who knew their assailant, something like thirty percent were family members. You'd fall into the other seventy percent of that category, which are murders perpetrated by acquaintances. Incidentally, men are responsible for over ninety percent of the murders committed in the United States."

I could see that Rip was veering off into a litany of statistics about victims and killers, and I wanted to redirect him back to the subject at hand. "Speaking of cutting to the chase, dear, could you please practice what you preach?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Rip replied. "As I was saying, Branson spoke to Cooper's live-in girlfriend this morning and—"

"Avery Curry?" Milo asked. "Tall, willowy blonde?"

"Did Cooper have more than one live-in girlfriend?" Rip asked pointedly. Milo looked down as if he'd been chastised.

"My point is, there's no way you could not have landed a spot on the suspect list," Rip continued. "Especially given the fact there were witnesses who put you at Crabby Joe's Saloon on Saturday afternoon. That list of witnesses includes over a dozen saloon customers, as well as Avery Curry, who claims to have accompanied Cooper to the bar and grill on Saturday, and was present when you entered the establishment."