October Moon - An Eamonn Shute Short Story

- October Moon - An Eamonn Shute Short Story

- Midpoint

OCTOBER MOON

An Eamonn Shute Short Story

Tony McFadden

Copyright Tony McFadden 2011

Smashwords Edition

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Early, for Eamonn, was anything before 10:00 a.m. The 8:00 a.m. phone call that woke him, therefore, was not particularly appreciated.

“Shite!” He rolled over and picked up his mobile phone, squinting at the screen. “Bloody private number my arse.” He flipped the phone onto the floor and attempted to rejoin his dreams. Sweet, sweet dreams.

And gave up after twelve seconds. “Jaysus!.” Beep-beep-beep, beeeep-beeeep, beep-beep-beep. The genius at Nokia that set the default notification for an incoming text message to the Morse code for S-M-S…well, Eamonn would love to have a nice quiet chat with him some day.

And the phone was on the other side of his large bedroom. “Okay then. Back to sleep.” Eamonn pulled the down comforter up to his ears and once again tried for sleep.

Ten minutes later, pillow pulled snugly over his ears as he tried to block out the incessant ringing of the gawdawful mobile phone and he finally, reluctantly, unwillingly and with great discomfort, levered his large frame out of his extremely comfortable bed. It took another thirty or so seconds to find the phone, hidden as it was behind the laundry basket. “What can be so bloody important,” he muttered. “I mean, really. It’s barely daytime.” He checked the call log. Seven missed calls from a Private Number.

He pulled a terry robe on to his 16 stone body and made his way to his balcony.

A brief interruption of this tale would be appropriate to describe Eamonn Shute’s current situation. Eighteen months prior to this morning with the annoying phone call, he had, through some clever large number theory exercises, selected the winning numbers in the very lucrative Irish Sweepstakes.

At least that’s what he told anyone who asked. Fact is, he was lucky, and he knew it.

Since then he had calculated that, even if he put some serious effort into it, he would be hard pressed to spend even the interest on the principle. Sick and absolutely bloody tired of the incessantly cold rain in his motherland (just a bit west of Donegal in the green land of Eire) he lit out for South Florida and its perpetual warmth. Twelve months ago he purchased the penthouse apartment he was currently living in.

His balcony on the 72nd floor overlooked Biscayne Blvd., and, looking due east, over Miami Beach, polluted even at this ungodly hour with greased, tanned, taut bodies, and then onward over the Atlantic.

Miami in October, even in the freshness of the (relatively) early morning, still beat the crap out of Ireland on any day. Eamonn settled in quickly, the over abundance of money easing matters considerably.

Back on the balcony he took a deep breath in through his nose, filling his lungs, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled. He looked at the phone, then back through the sliding door at the kitchen. “Damn. I need a coffee and a biscuit before I do anything else.”

He turned about face and headed back into his apartment, bee-lined to the coffee machine. An accomplished barista, his skills were wasted this morning. He created a short black – an incredibly thick espresso – and toasted a couple of English Muffins. He was making his way back to the balcony when his mobile phone rang again.

He managed to dig the phone out of his deep robe pocket by the fourth ring. ‘Private number’, again.

“What the bloody hell do you want?”

“Eamonn?”

“You’ve been calling my bloody phone for over twenty minutes now. Who d’ya think it might be, if not me? Who, might I be so bold to ask, would YOU be?”

“Eamonn, it’s me, Nicky.”

“Nicky?” Ah, this was worth waking up for.

“Muniz. You know, from the book store? R&R? I know you know me. We’ve talked.” She was tripping over her words, nervous. “I took your number from the customer files. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I know you, Nicky.” You interrupted a dream that starred you, he thought. “What’s so urgent?”

“You’re the smartest person I know, Eamonn, right?”

Ah, to have an ego stroked so early. Now, definitely worth the loss of sleep. “Well, I couldn’t possibly say, Nicky. I clearly don’t know all of the people that you know.” He paused and took a bite of muffin and marmalade. “However, that said, it’s likely that you are correct, lass. With what could I possibly assist you?”

She sniffed. “My cousin is dead.”

He pulled out a chair and sat at the small table on his balcony. “My condolences, dear girl. You must be shattered.” There was a sigh and a long pause on the end of the phone. “Nicky, are you okay?”

“I haven’t seen him in four years. He married a woman that the family didn’t get along with and we lost touch with him. He was trying to reconnect recently, so this hurts even more.”

“That’s sad, but I still don’t know how I can help you.”

“It’s a long story, maybe I shouldn’t bother you.”

Eamonn rubbed his eyes. “It’s not a bother Nicky. You have my undivided attention. Come over to my place for a coffee and talk face to face. It will be more satisfying for both of us.”

“Thank you, thank you. I really appreciate this.”

Eamonn gave her his address and told her to buzz him when she arrived. She informed him that she would be there in about twenty minutes, “…if that was okay?”

“Certainly, Nicky. I have nothing else on this morning. I’ll see you soon.” He slid his phone closed and dropped it in his robe pocket. He smiled. Then slammed back his espresso and rushed through a shower.

Hair brushed, cologne applied, he was checking himself in the mirror when the intercom buzzed. One last flick of his hair, a wink and a smile and he walked to the security screen by the front door. He saw the vision of Nicky in the lobby, her glorious radiance almost blinding him. Yes, he was smitten. “Good morning Nicky. Take the lift – elevator, to the 72rd floor. You’ll need to enter code 3267 to get up here. I’ll see you in a minute.”

His was the only residence on the 72nd floor, so the lift lobby (he still thought of them as ‘lifts’, not ‘elevators’) was essentially the foyer to his residence. He met her at the door. “Come in, come in. Coffee?”

“Yes please. Thanks.” She took in the apartment, slowly turning from right to left, ending at the wide balcony doors. “Wow. This place is beautiful.”

“It is, thanks. But I only bought it. Your compliments are more suited for the designers, architect and interior decorators that did up this place.” He smiled. “So, coffee? Something a bit more specific than just ‘yes’? Would you like a latte? Cappuccino? Espresso?”

“Oh, okay. Long black and a glass of ice water?”

“Too easy. Why don’t you take a seat on the balcony and compose yourself and I’ll be there in a couple of short minutes. Here, let me get the door for you.”

Nicky stepped onto the balcony and looked out over the Atlantic, the light morning breeze gently blowing her shoulder length auburn hair. She leaned her forearms on the balcony railing and watched the powerboats leave silver trails across the ocean. She closed her eyes and let the salt-tanged air wash over her, melting away her stress

She was startled by a light tap on her shoulder. “Nicky? I’ve got your coffee and listen, back up a bit would ya? I’m not totally sure how sound those railings are. The first, and last, step is a wee bit hazardous.”

Nicky smiled and leaned a bit farther over the rail and looked straight down. “I love heights. It makes me feel funny in the stomach. It’s thrilling!” Her smile wavered. She remembered why she was here, in this beautiful apartment.

So she sat at the table across from Eamonn, a large steaming cup of black coffee and a chilled glass full of ice water in front of her and thought about how to proceed.

Eamonn took a sip of his espresso. “Start from the top. Your cousin has died, and that’s sad, but why come to me for help? Shouldn’t the police be involved?”

“Oh, they say he’s died of a heart attack. No investigation.”

“So he’s older?”

“By four years. He is,” she hesitated. “Julio was 35.”

“Young for a heart attack. Was he unfit?”

“That’s exactly my point Eamonn. He was in good shape. Before he hooked up with that psycho bitch we used to do a morning beach run together.”

“So you were close? Yet he didn’t try to contact you for what, four years?”

Nicky had a sip of her coffee and chased it with some ice-water. “She was strange. How she got her hooks into him, I’ll never know. The last few months he’s dropped me short emails to say hi. We’ve slowly been getting back into regular communications. In two weeks he was going to come over for my birthday. That bitch killed him, I’m sure of that, but nobody believes me.”

“Why, if as you say she’s got her hooks into her – I do like that turn of phrase – would the ‘psycho-bitch’ kill him? It’s not unheard of for a young man to have a heart attack.”

“I have suspicions, but nothing definite. Maybe she thought he was getting ready to leave her.” She sat forward in her chair. “I don’t know, but my gut is telling me she did. I don’t know how, but she did.”

Eamonn shook his head and drank the remainder of his coffee. “I appreciate your faith in my intellectual abilities. However, I need a lot more information than this to help you. A suspicion on your part and an uncharacteristically young heart-attack is not enough information.” He smiled at her. “Not even I am that smart. When you finish your coffee, then we will go to the ‘scene of the crime’.”

“Where?” asked Nicky

“Where he had the heart attack.”

“Oh.” She took another drink of coffee. “That would be Mary’s house in Homestead. We really need to go there?”

“I assume Mary is the, what did you call her, the ‘psycho-bitch? Yes, we really need to go there. If she did kill him, it’s the scene of the crime, after all. Best place to start.” He leaned back in his chair and watched Nicky. He could watch her do anything, all day. “Out of curiositywhy do you refer to her as a ‘psycho-bitch?”

Nicky put her cup back on the table and smiled. “Not really fair, you’re probably thinking. After all, I only met her a few times when my cousin hooked up with her.”

“So the interactions must have been pretty intense then, for you to come to that conclusion. ‘Psycho-bitch’ doesn’t leave much room for ambiguity, does it?”

Nicky shrugged. “What can I say? She’s one of these hardcore, granola crunching, sandal-wearing, tree-hugging, militant eco-nuts. Would be as happy as a pig in shit, excuse me, to be up against Japanese whaling boats in a dinghy, or against the seal culling crew up north with a cross-bow.”

“That was four years ago though, Nicky. People change.”

Nicky swallowed coffee, chased with ice water and shook her head. “No. Not her.”

“You seem sure.”

“Julio has been dropping hints. The short emails. Nothing explicit, but the subtext has been around getting back to a normal, mainstream lifestyle. And he couldn’t do that with Mary at his side. She wouldn’t stand for it.” She finished her coffee, picked up her cup and Eamonn’s and stood. “Where do you want these? Where’s your kitchen?”

“Ah, yes. Good. Give me those, and let’s get going. You have the address, right?”

Nicky started reciting a street address in Homestead. Eamonn put up his hands, surrendering. “Wait a minute dear. Wait until we get in the car and I can setup my ‘digital’ bitch.”

Nicky looked quizzical. “Who?”

“My onboard GPS. She’s a bit of a nag.”

--oOo--

Forty-five minutes later, comfortably ensconced in the air-conditioned comfort of Eamonn’s car, the onboard GPS instructed them to take the Campbell drive exit off 821 toward Homestead. “Getting close, Nicky.”

Five minutes later and Eamonn was looking around at the neighborhood they had ended up in. “You’re positive you’ve got the address correct?”

“This is the place Eamonn. They were living together in a doublewide. That one.” She pointed out a well-maintained trailer on the end of a cul-de-sac.

Eamonn raised an eyebrow. “Nice. It has a certain style.” He shrugged. “Actually, maybe not.” He pulled into the empty drive. “Nobody’s home?”

He turned off the ignition and they looked through the windscreen at the residence in front of them.

It was, indeed, a doublewide trailer (or caravan, he thought). A porch was built on the west side, enclosed with mosquito screening and outfitted with a small table and four chair set, a bar fridge and a two-burner barbeque. The ‘roof’ of the porch was a brilliant peach colored awning. It would be a very noisy place to be in a heavy rainstorm.

To their left was the drive to a smaller trailer. The drive was occupied with a flash electric golf cart, the latest model. A Miami Dolphins pennant flew high above the cart’s roof, at the end of a 6 foot long fiberglass shaft. The trailer curtains parted and a wizened face looked out at them.

“We have an audience, Nicky.” Eamonn pointed at the window. “I wonder if she witnessed anything the day Julio died.”

“We should ask.”

“Maybe.” He opened the door, letting in the humid heat, and levered himself out of his car. “But first…” he pointed at Julio’s trailer. “We need to talk to Mary and, if at all possible, have a look inside.”

Nicky got out of the car and closed the door. There was a brick planter built at the front of the trailer around where the hitch would normally be. The bricks were painted, alternating between the predominant brilliant white, salmon and sea green. It looked like an ad for Crocket and Tubbs’ Miami Vice, 25 years on. In the planter were a number of what looked to Nicky like herbs and spices; thyme, parsley, possibly rosemary. She stepped around the planter and joined Eamonn at the front door.

Eamonn checked the porch screen door. It was unlocked. He knocked on the aluminum frame, then again a few seconds later, harder. They heard a voice call out to them to come around to the back.

“Was that Mary’s voice?” Eamonn lead the way to the north side of the trailer.

“Sounds like.”

At the back, on a smallish plot of land, a woman in her mid to late forties, long ash-blond hair in a braid down to the middle of her back, was dragging a hoe between rows of vegetables, or herbs, or something in that general family of plants. She was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts, a loose New England Patriots t-shirt, and Birkenstocks. Madrids, if Eamonn remembered correctly. White. Originally white, that is, and now stained by the garden dirt.

Eamonn looked at Nicky, raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the woman “Mary?” he whispered. Nicky nodded.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. May we have a word with you?”

Mary turned and smiled a small, sad smile. “Nicky. So good to see you. Who is this?” She dropped the hoe on the ground and removed her gloves.

Eamonn extended his hand. “Eamonn, ma’am. An acquaintance of Nicky’s. Can we have a minute or two of your time?”

“Wow. Is that a Scottish accent? It really sounds sexy.” She lightly hugged Nicky and pecked her on the cheek.

“I’m Irish, Mary. Irish. The Scot tongue is far more vulgar than mine.” He nodded toward the trailer. “Do you mind if we go in? I’m fairly hot and could use some ice water, if that’s okay with you.”

“Certainly. Come on in.” She led them back to the porch door, pausing to look at Eamonn’s car. “Nice Jag you have.” She opened the porch door and held it for her guests. “Wipe your feet please. And have a seat out here. It’s too warm inside. The air conditioner isn’t working properly. I’ll be right back with something cool to drink.” She stepped up into the body proper of the trailer and closed the door behind her.

“Well, Nicky, she appeared to be nice enough.”

Nicky frowned. “Too nice. Nicest she’s ever been to me. She’s up to something.”

“More than likely, lass, she’s feeling some pity for you and your recent loss. Don’t try and find an ulterior motive. I doubt there is one. Maybe Julio really had a heart attack.”

Nicky was emphatic. “No. I don’t trust her.”

The door opened and Mary appeared with a tray of drinks. Eamonn stood to help.

“Oh, and a gentleman. Thank you!” She turned to Nicky. “I haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

Eamonn took the tray and placed it on the table. “Thank you, Mary.” He poured glasses of iced lemon tea for Mary, Nicky and one for himself before he sat. “I’m so sorry to hear about your loss.”

Mary smiled, sadly. “It’s a terrible shock.” She shook her head. “I’d been telling him to exercise more. He wasn’t eating well either. A ticking time bomb. It wasn’t a total surprise, I’d have to say.”

Eamonn looked at Nicky, and spoke before she had a chance to light into Mary. “So, greasy burgers? Too many donuts?”

Mary shrugged. “Red meat. I’m a vegetarian, but could handle him eating fish. Fish is healthy. But lately…”

“Sneaking the odd steak?” Eamonn smiled.

“It’s not funny, Eamonn. Red meat will kill you.” She took a sip of iced tea, folded her arms and scowled. “I lost my husband. This is difficult for me.”

Nicky placed her glass back on the table a bit too forcefully. “Were you here when he – you know…”

Mary shook her head. “No. I was up north visiting family. In Boston.” She smiled. “Well, just outside of Boston. Not actually in the city.” She made a face. “Not sure why anyone would voluntarily live in a city.”

“When did you get back?” Curt. Nicky was curt. No other way to describe it. Not friendly, sympathetic or understanding. Curt

“He was already dead. I discovered him.”

“Here?” Nicky pointed at the table.

“Yes, of course. Where else?” Mary sniffed. “Horrible.”

“It was the day before yesterday. I’d expect you to have problems staying here after something as cataclysmic as that. I’m surprised you’re still here.” Nicky had left curt far behind and was closing in on hostile.

“Listen, Nicky, I have nowhere else to live. I still need to tend to the herbs and homeopathic remedies that are growing here. I need to make a living.” She looked to Eamonn. “You understand, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Was he inside or out here in the porch?”

“What? Oh, inside. At the table.”

“While he was eating a greasy burger?”

Mary shook her head. “No. There was nothing at the table except a book. Listen, I hate to be short, but I need to get back to work.”

Eamonn stood. “If I could use the men’s room first? It’s a long drive back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Turn left and it’s half way down on the right.”

“Thanks.” Eamonn entered the double wide, closed the door behind him and stood still, head only a few inches from the low ceiling. The layout was no different than thousands of other doublewide trailers (‘caravan’, he thought). The kitchen was to the right, at the front of the trailer. A table cantilevered out from the back wall directly opposite the door, supported by a single ‘Y’-shaped leg, angling from the two corners of the table to a single leg on the floor. This is where, apparently, Julio had the heart attack. Bench seats lined either side of the table.

Eamonn took a closer look. The hinge along the back wall that supported the table was loose at one end. Fresh wood chips lay on the floor below the table and one, no two, screws were loose. As he leaned over to pick up the shavings his foot nudged the leg. It, the table leg, fell off, the table sagging to the floor.

“Ah, fuck.” He grabbed the table before it ripped out of the wall completely and placed the leg back underneath, balanced precariously.

“Huh. Interesting.” While squatting to fix the table leg in place, he noticed a hole in the wood facing of the bench seat on the left of the table shaped like the heel of a shoe and again, fresh. “Very interesting.”

He took some pictures with his iPhone and made his way to the bathroom. He really did need to go. On the left, heading to the back of the trailer, was a small bookcase, devoted entirely, it would seem, to Mary’s herbs and homeopathy. Books describing wild plants of the eastern seaboard, recipe books focusing on herbs and wild plants and plant taxonomy books dominated the shelves.

When he re-entered the porch it was as if the temperature had dropped at least 10 degrees. Nicky was standing by the door, waiting for him, while Mary sat, mute, at the table. Something had gone on between the ladies that chilled the air.

“What book, Mary?”

“Excuse me? What do you mean?”

“What book was Julio reading when he died?”

“Does it matter?”

Eamonn shrugged. “Just curious. Was it a mystery novel? Romance novel? DIY?”

Mary frowned. “I really can’t remember. Sorry.”

Eamonn smiled. “Okay then. Thanks for the hospitality. We’ll leave you to your work.” He took Nicky by the elbow and left.

He held the car door for Nicky, closed it behind her and walked around the back of the car to the driver’s side. He glanced at Mary as he entered the car. She had a half smile on her face.

“Okay,” he said as he started the Jag. “She killed him.”

“Really? How?”

“Not entirely sure yet, but I’ll find out. She’s not that smart.” He backed out of the drive. Mary watched them exit. “But I have an idea…”

They travelled in silence, the muted strains of Wynton Marsalis feathering the speakers. Nicky had sunk into the seat, as if the weight of Eamonn confirming her suspicions pressed heavy on her.

Thirty minutes into the trip she looked over at him. “So what next?”

“This isn’t going to be easy for you.”

“I want that bitch to pay. What’s next?” Steel in her voice.

“Well, the autopsy results. I can drop you home, if you’d like. It’s not a pleasant task, especially for you.”

“What, me because I’m a girl?”

“No. You’re his family.”

Nicky set her jaw. “I need to know what happened.”

Eamonn sighed. “Alrighty then.” He nodded. “The autopsy was done yesterday?”

“Yes. Yesterday evening. I’m to collect the body for burial this afternoon.”

Eamonn nodded. “Did you, by any chance, get the name of the Doctor who performed the autopsy?”

Nicky slid a thin billfold from her back pocket and pulled out a business card. “A Dr. Prichard. Estelle Prichard.” She looked across at Eamonn, who had a slight smile on his face, and a raised eyebrow. “You know her?”

“We’ve met. Let’s leave it at that for now. If I recall, I need to stay on I-95 and head to the University of Miami Medical center. We should be there in 10. Would you give her a call and mention you’d like to talk to her about something. Anything. And, ah, don’t mention my name, okay?”

He wheeled into visitors parking at the medical center, sorted out his bearings and headed in the direction of the Pathology center, Nicky quick stepping along side.

She presented herself at the front desk and informed reception that Dr Prichard was expecting her, then both sat in the generic vinyl chairs and waited.

And waited.

Forty-five minutes of waiting later and Dr Estelle Prichard appeared. She was in her mid-thirties. A shade over 6 foot, almost white blonde hair and not a visible ounce of fat on her body, she looked like a Nordic warrior in scrubs. She looked around the reception area, seeing Nicky first, then Eamonn. She took a deep breath, and entered the reception area. “Nicky Muniz. I’m afraid your cousin’s remains won’t be ready for collection for at least another three hours.”

“I have a couple of things to ask you. Actually,” she pointed to her left, “Eamonn has something to ask.”

Eamonn stood, smile and extended his hand, which was ignored. “Good morning Doc. Still as beautiful as ever, I see.” He raised an eyebrow and held the hand out for a few more seconds, then shrugged and slid it back into his trousers pocket.

“What do you want?” Then to Nicky, “Watch out for this guy.”

“Can we talk somewhere?”

Shaking her head in resignation, Dr. Pritchard turned and indicated for them to follow, leading them into a small unused office. “So. Miss Muniz, I thought it was pretty clear last evening. Your cousin suffered a severe myocardial infarction. It’s not common in someone his age, but not unheard of. The damage to his heart was unmistakable. I’m very sorry, but the matter is now closed.”

Eamonn smiled a small smile. “You always were a bit narrow-minded. Too much so, I thought. What were the contents of the stomach?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Nicky interrupted. “The stomach contents? Please? Eamonn and I think it was more than a heart attack. This could be important.”

Estelle Prichard sighed and pulled the file out from under her arm and flipped it open. “The stomach was partially filled with a mixture of meat and vegetables, like a beef stew. No alcohol or drugs were found in his system.”

“Well digested?” asked Eamonn

“No, it was recently eaten.”

“The vegetables. Would they be potato, carrot, turnip, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah. And parsnip. Bit of celery. Why? What is this all about?”

“I’m afraid the police did a bit of a shoddy job, but I’ve got to assume that her cousin’s wife arranged the scene to fit her story. He was most certainly killed, and I think I have enough evidence to prove it. With some more assistance from you.”

Dr. Prichard folded her arms across her chest and looked at the two of them. “What’s going on?”

“For justice to be served here I’m going to need for you to test the stomach contents for toxins. I’ll bet a bottle of your favorite red, which I seem to recall goes for about $200 a pop, that you’ll find something. Text me the results, will you? We need to go, and quickly before the rest of the evidence is erased.” He took her hand in his. “Listen, this need to be done quickly. I know I’m right, and I need all the evidence I can get, as fast as I can get it, so the police can get a warrant for the killer’s arrest.”

“For Nicky, sure. I’ll text her the findings as soon as I get them.” She checked her watch. “I think I can get it to you within the hour. Nicky, I’m going to have to postpone the release for at least a day, just in case this guy is right.”

Nicky nodded her assent.

“Fantastic.” Eamonn turned to Nicky. “We need to go back to Homestead, now.” He nodded at the doctor, took Nicky by the elbow and left.

Back in the car, heading south toward Homestead again, Nicky looked across at Eamonn. “Why back to Homestead? Back to Mary’s place?”

“Homestead Police. The murder took place in their jurisdiction. No point in talking to Metro-Dade.”

They spent the next thirty-five minutes in relative silence, listening to the radio reports of impending tropical storms, traffic accidents on I-95 and the latest drug sting in Broward County.

Just before noon he pulled into a parking spot on W. Mowry Dr, near the intersection of S. Krome Ave. The intersection was the dividing point between East and West Mowry and South and North Krome; the geographical center of Homestead. The police station, a small two story building, stood on the Southwest corner of the intersection.

When they stepped out of the air-conditioned car the humid heat of Homestead hit them. Thick, dark clouds rolled in along the coast to the east. There would be a thunderstorm within the hour.

“This is it. If we can convince whomever is in charge in here that foul play was committed upon your cousin, we can stand back and let them do their job.”

“And if not?”

“More work for us, I’m afraid.”

Nicky took his large hand in his. “I wouldn’t mind more time with you.” She pulled him to a stop outside the door. “Listen, I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve given me, and you hardly knowing me.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have this step to go through. Let’s go.”

They informed the desk sergeant that they had to report a murder and were directed to a cramped interview room. Air conditioning was clearly reserved for even hotter days. A reciprocating fan on a floor stand provided the only cooling, hot air escaping through opened louvered windows high on the wall. Less than a minute after they sat down a middle-aged overweight man in cargo shorts, sandals, and a gaudy Hawaiian shirt barreled through the door.

“Detective Marty Wills. Have a seat folks and tell me what’s on your minds. Coffee?”

“We’re good Detective. For coffee that is. Listen, Detective, -”

“Call me Marty, folks. And you are?”

“I’m Eamonn Shute, and this is Nicky Muniz.”

“Aim ‘n Shoot? You’re shitting me.”

“E-a-m-o-n-n S-h-u-t-e. I’m originally from Ireland. But that’s not relevant. Nicky’s cousin was found dead in his double-wide caravan – trailer, I believe you call them – two days ago.”

“Muniz, Muniz, Oh yeah. Julio Muniz. Sorry to hear of your loss Miss Muniz. He was awfully young to go with a heart attack, but there was no evidence of foul play. He was found at his dinner table, slumped over and dead by the wife who called 911. The autopsy was conclusive. But, if you give me a sec I’ll grab the case file.” He stood and left the room.

Nicky’s phone beeped indicating an incoming message. She read it and passed it to Eamonn. He nodded. “Just as I suspected.” He looked up as Detective Wills re-entered the room and forcibly dropped his large frame into his chair.

He dropped the file on the desk. “Where were we?”

“There is more evidence.” Eamonn dug his phone out of his pocket and opened the photo gallery. “There was extensive damage to the table and area, and very fresh damage at that, that the wife attempted to conceal.” He showed the detective the photos of the broken leg, the lifted hinge and the hole in the panel below the bench seat.

“The autopsy report indicated a partially filled stomach with very recently consumed food, yet the wife claims that when she discovered him, there was nothing else in the kitchen, no food, no coffee, just a dead hubby and a book.”

Marty Wills looked through the file, then nodded. “True. Still a little weak. He could have eaten elsewhere.”

Eamonn held up Nicky’s phone. “We’ve just received confirmation from the M.E. that there was a highly elevated level of cicutoxin in Julio’s system. This is found in water hemlock. The roots look very much like, and have the consistency of, parsnip. The effect of this poison, from freshly picked water hemlock, is almost immediate, resulting in severe convulsions, severe abdominal pain and, finally, severe death, within 30 minutes. It is inconceivable that someone who had ingested water hemlock would be able to clean up any evidence of them having eaten before they died.”

Detective Wills was taking notes. “Compelling. Obvious question is who.”

Nicky piped up. “The wife, obviously. Mary is a cold-hearted bitch that had a grip on Julio that you couldn’t possibly imagine. And lately he’d been starting to make contact with me again. Intimating that he was finding the relationship stifling. I’ve never liked her.”

Eamonn placed his hand on her arm. “Emotional aspects aside, and there is something to be said for female intuition, there are concrete reasons. First, she clearly doctored the scene before calling 911. Second -” he stopped as Detective Wills held up his hand.

“Enough.” He looked over his notes.

Nicky frowned. “But -” She stopped. His hand was up again.

Wills continued to look over the notes “Look, there are still some questions here, but if the medical examiner confirms what you just said, there is more than enough to get a warrant to look at the trailer again, and to bring Mary Muniz in for questioning. Who was the M.E.?”

Eamonn pulled the card out of his shirt pocket and slid across the desk. “Estelle Prichard.”

“Ah. The lovely Ms. Prichard. I’ll give her a call and get a copy of that report. Listen, you two, if you’re correct about this, this woman is dangerous. You’ve done more than you should have, probably, so I’d strongly advise you to let us take from here.”

He slipped the additional notes he had taken during their conversation, as well as the M.E.’s card, into Julio Muniz’s file and stood. “Leave your contact information with the front desk on your way out, and please leave this to us, would you? I’ll get back to you tonight with where we stand. Nicky, I’ll be calling you since you are the immediate family.” He tucked the file under his arm and shook Nicky’s, then Eamonn’s hand. “I really appreciate this, folks. Hate to think a murderer is living in my little town.”

Eamonn and Nicky followed him out of the room, left their contact information with the Sergeant at the front desk, and exited the Police Station into the beginning of what was turning into a hellacious rain storm.

“Stay here under the awning Nicky. I’ll swing around the block and pick you up here.”

Nicky laughed. “I’m not made of sugar. Let’s make a run for it.”

-oOo-

Later that evening they stood on Eamonn’s balcony watching the storm move out to sea. The sky above them was clear, and a full moon was breaking over the storm clouds to the east. The air was fresh and crisp, as was the Riesling.

“Eamonn, how have you managed to afford such a beautiful place? You’re just young. Excuse me for being forward.” She held up her glass. “Blame the wine.”

“A long story, one that I’d be delighted to tell in little pieces over the next few weeks. You’re more relaxed than I’ve seen you since I first met you in your delightful bookstore.”

“Oh, I’m relieved that Detective Wills looks like he’s going to look into Julio’s death with more focus. I hated to think he was killed and nobody looked into it.” She put her glass down on the small table and stood at the balcony railing. Deep inside her pants pocket her phone rang. She looked at the display and handed it to Eamonn. “It’s him. Can you take it?”

He smiled, took the phone and pressed the green button “Eamonn Shute on behalf of Nicky Muniz, Detective. What can you tell us?”

“Detective Mills here Eamonn. Are you with Miss Muniz?”

“It’s her phone, isn’t it?”

“I would need to speak with her.”

“One sec.” He handed the phone back to Nicky. “He wants to make sure this is legit.”

“Detective, hello. This is Nicky. I’d prefer if you talked to Eamonn about this. I’ll put you on speaker phone.”

She laid the phone on the table and activated the speaker. “We are both here now Detective. What can you tell us?”

Wills cleared his throat. “You two were correct. Julio’s death was foul play.” A tear slid down Nicky’s cheek. Eamonn reached across the table and took her hand. “I’ve confirmed the M.E.’s report with Est – Dr. Prichard, and the local judge issued both search and arrest warrants on Mary Muniz.”

Nicky leaned into the phone. “So you’ve arrested her? Will I have to testify?”

“Nah. Not so lucky, I’m afraid. When we arrived the fire department was already there and the trailer was almost completely destroyed. Arson investigators have preliminarily labelled it as an intentional burn. Lots of accelerant found, primarily in the kitchen area. Eamonn, I’ll need copies of those photos and an affidavit from you when you get a chance. Oh, and Mary is missing. There is a nationwide arrest warrant for her, for both the arson and the murder. Dr. Prichard has amended Julio’s death certificate to indicate foul play, intentional poisoning. As I said before, I appreciate this.”

Nicky smiled through her tears and sniffed. “Thank you Detective Wills, and thanks very much to Eamonn. I couldn’t have done this without his support and help.” She squeezed his hand.

“Okay kids. I doubt that Mary is still in Florida, but keep an eye out for the next few days. I think she’s pissed. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” He disconnected.

Eamonn looked at Nicky. Nicky looked at Eamonn “I’d like to buy you dinner, big guy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d like to cook you dinner. Tonight. Can you stay?”

She smiled and wiped the remaining tear from her cheek. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”