Murder, She Floats

  Murder, She Floats

  A Penning Trouble Mystery

  For my beautiful cousin, Penny, you are strong in body, mind and soul.

  Rachael Stapleton

  ______________________________

  Copyright©2017 Rachael Stapleton

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  Chapter One

  _____________

  T he night was hot and soaked in the smell of freshly cut grass. Ignoring the sweat trickling down my breastbone, I sank deeper into position, focusing on the crickets and frogs serenading me. This little cabin on the outskirts of Bohemian Lake was a far cry from the honking horns and bright lights of the city that I’d left in my rearview mirror earlier today, but as my father always said, home is where the heart is. My hometown wasn’t a happening place, but it had heart. Not to mention crazy, loveable characters; and charming, melodic waves that lapped at the shores—bewitching tourists and locals alike. Perhaps those magical waves explained why I was back in town, crashing at a friend’s cabin, about to start work at the Private Eye again. Well, that and the fact that I’d been dumped.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and adjusted my stance, forgetting about the wounds that needed licking. I’d studied mixed martial arts for years now and I was used to holding poses to the snarl of motorcycles and the bleat of sirens, and my focus at times was unbreakable. Unfortunately, that was not the case tonight. Insects hummed outside the open cabin windows, irritating me despite my best efforts to tune them out, and that’s when it dawned on me that the remote whine ricocheting between my ears was too loud to be mosquitoes. I emerged from my sunken stance and walked to the screen. The lake was choppy and yet the pines and the weeping willows were still.

  No breeze.

  It didn’t take an investigative genius to figure out that the waves were caused by something else–like an outboard motor. I peered closer. Something idled on the far side of the lake by Caravan Manor. Oh well, not my concern. I’d just driven from the city–three hours, thanks to long-weekend traffic–and unpacked all of my basics in under four hours. I needed at least forty winks before I got nosey.

  The moment my head hit that down-filled pillow I was out like the cheetah print lamp next to me–swept away to the hazy borderland of sleep. I woke a little while later, tucked into the coziness of my white duvet, with warmth on my earlobe and a hand on my elbow. Then that hand crept inward, and I smelled metallic, fetid breath. Wait a minute… I’d gone to bed alone.

  My body lurched awake, my martial arts training kicking in, and I was on my feet and in attack mode before my eyes were even open. I clutched for my phone on the nightstand, blinking rapidly.

  “Who in the hell are you?” I yelled.

  “Olivia? It’s me.”

  I swiped my finger up and hit the flashlight button on my phone, angling it toward the intruder now sprawled on top of the duvet. I yanked it from under him and covered my body, clad in only a flimsy pink tank top and flamingo boxers. Not that I had anything to hide. Then I pushed my hair from my eyes and stared down my nose at the relaxed gentleman lying in bed. And by relaxed, I mean the snoring, dead-to-the-world drunk who’d already drifted back to sleep, probably dreaming of more ways to accost me.

  I picked up my hairbrush from the nightstand and whacked him hard in the hamstring. Boy, had he picked the wrong bed.

  He snorted and rolled over.

  I tapped him again. “Dude, Olivia’s not here. She’s traveling.” Guinness, my dog, barked from outside the open window. “Get out before I call the cops.”

  “Before you call the cops…” He chuckled. “Is that you, Penelope Trubble? I thought you were a big-city cop now.”

  I squinted. Midnight Molester knew me. His voice tickled the back of my own sleep-drenched memory. “Ben Baboon?”

  “The one and only,” he grunted, and then scratched places that should not be scratched in a lady’s presence.

  Yup, it was the baboon all right, one of my least favorite people in town. I remembered him all too well from the old school party circuit, which consisted of bonfires and field parties where I drank whisky sours by the barrel and my heavy wing-tipped eyeliner made Amy Winehouse look like a fresh-faced kid. That was all back before I’d joined the police force. I’d lasted a week before I quit.

  “Law enforcement wasn’t for me,” I replied to his earlier comment. “I write for a national travel magazine now.”

  “So, you’re the one that started all this chaos.”

  “Started what? I’m just here to help Dad out for the summer.”

  “You’re investigating for him again?” he questioned.

  “I may assist with a case or two, but I’m mainly back to help run the paper. You must have heard Dad bought the newspaper.”

  “You went from a cop to answering phones for Daddy? Yeesh.”

  I bit my lip. This was the same guy who couldn’t hack the responsibility of doing up his fly on a regular basis. “I’m a journalist, thanks!” Truthfully, I’d told Dad I would do everything from answering phones to updating the website and selling ads, but Ben didn’t need to know that.

  “You still live in Boho?” I asked, lowering my phone although I had enjoyed spotlighting him like a criminal.

  Ben sat up, his love handles and tattered tighty whities in full view. “I left for a few months, too.”

  I looked around the bedroom for my black cotton robe and tugged it on. Then I strode decisively into the kitchen, hoping he’d take the hint and skedaddle. He did follow me, but instead of leaving he opened the cupboards and then the fridge. Apparently this bed-and-breakfast served food.

  “Why are you here?”

  No response.

  “Are you dating Olivia or something?”

  “No,” he replied. “Not lately. I just always drop in to say hello to her when I’m back in town. It’s been a while…”

  “I see.” That explained why he didn’t know she was off traveling on the other side of the world at the moment.

  “So, where do you live now?”

  He cracked a can of Olivia’s cider beer he found in the fridge and stuck his hand in a drawer, pulling out a protein bar. “Finally something decent to eat.” He ripped the edge and took a bite, then swallowed and made a sourpuss face. “What in the hell kind of chocolate bar is this?” He took another bite and threw the half-eaten bar aside.

  I scowled. He’d just wasted my last chocolate cookie dough protein bar; I’d have to drive at least thirty minutes to buy more. He was standing in a position that left him wide open. I could give him a powerful jab to the groin, and when he doubled over I could elbow the back of his neck. Then he’d think twice about wasting my food. Temper. Temper. Instead, I opened the front door and stepped outside in the hopes that the beautiful ambiance would keep me from dropkicking this dope.

  Bohemian Lake had always had a soothing effect on me–the rolling hills, thick woodland, and that lakeshore. I was pulled from my reverie by the sound of an ATV engine. It reminded me of the motorboat I’d seen earlier.

  “Hey, Ben, get out here.”

  He peered out the door, taking a break from chomping down on crackers and dropping crumbs all over my freshly scrubbed floor. He’d clearly found my snack cupboard and thankfully his jeans.

  I clenched my fists and
turned back toward the lake. “Why do you suppose Bohemian Lake is so active tonight?”

  “One kid riding home from a friend’s on an ATV is hardly active.”

  “No, it’s not just one. There was a lot of activity in the woods earlier and since when is it common for boats to be out in the middle of the night?”

  I jumped as Ben answered from directly behind my left shoulder. “There’s a boat out there? Where?”

  “Not anymore, but there was a little while ago. What do you think they were up to? You can’t fish without lights and the mosquitos would be awful.”

  “Lots of people fish at night for catfish.”

  “This lake isn’t known for catfish.”

  Ben shrugged.

  “So, this just happens all the time now, huh? People just come to Bohemian Lake on a week night and fish and drive their four-wheelers in the woods at all hours of the night.”

  “Wait a minute. You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Investigative journalist Penelope Trubble hasn’t heard about the article-rating Caravan Manor? You’ve got to be joking. You suck at your job, girl.” Ben laughed in his usual mean-spirited way. “Didn’t you say you worked for a national travel magazine?”

  I gave Ben a look. “There is more than just one travel magazine, funny guy. They don’t all ask me for approval before they go to print and I certainly don’t broadcast where I’m from.”

  “Whatever you say, P.I Trubble.”

  I shot him a venomous look and placed my hands behind my back so I wouldn’t be tempted to use them on him.

  He smirked. “There’s a contest happening this weekend. I figured that’s why you were here. You really didn’t know that the article touched on the original 1913 Liberty Head nickel or that the town council planted a fake?”

  The missing 1913 Liberty Head nickel–Bohemian Lake’s claim to fame. I’d almost forgotten. Local legend had it that in the summer of ’62 a wealthy guest of the Manor had gone out on a boat with a rare nickel and fallen overboard. She was pulled from the water, but the million-dollar coin was never found.

  “They’re offering ten thousand dollars to whoever finds it by Monday.”

  Dad hadn’t mentioned anything about a contest on the phone, but that was probably why he had needed my help so suddenly.

  “Time to prove your worth, huh?” He turned and started to head back inside the cabin. “If you’re going to be the star reporter of Bohemian Lake, then you best not be scooped.” He paused to snicker. “Again.”

  I inhaled deeply and followed him. One well-placed front kick to the groin and he’d be crying like a little… nope… don’t even envision it. “Has the contest already started?”

  His eyes traveled around the room, annoyed or distracted, or both. Then he settled on the plaid jacket he’d left in a crumpled pile inside the front door, next to a flashlight. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Technically, it’s Thursday morning, so I guess the contest starts tomorrow.” I watched Ben shove more wheat thins in his mouth and toss the box aside.

  “Is that empty?” I said, bending over to retrieve it. Deep breath. I broke the box down and placed it in the recycling. This wake-up call had been trying my patience but at least it was enlightening. It was just unfortunate I had to get my info from a guy who ate his snacks like a two-year-old. “So, how’d you hear about the contest? Is that why you’re back in town?” I asked, might as well see what else I could find out. I couldn’t see Ben perusing a magazine that didn’t feature naked women.

  Ben took a chug from the can of beer and burped. “Nope, and word gets around.”

  “Word, huh? So, one of the Patones then?” The Patones ran the heart of Bohemian’s gossip central. They also ran this town.

  He finished his beer and crushed the can in his fist, then dropped it to the ground with a clatter. His voice was a growl. “Mind your business, Trubble.”

  He brushed past me quickly, flashlight in hand. His elbow connected with my side in a sharp whack, and I couldn’t tell if it was intentional. At the door, he turned and gave me a long, hard stare, his dark brown eyes staring down my green. Maybe he thought I would turn to stone.

  And then the screen door slapped closed, and I stood alone with an empty protein bar wrapper and a floor full of crumbs.

  I let my black lab Guinness in before I cleaned off the counter and took a seat on the couch. She’d taken off earlier tonight, most likely because of the commotion on the lake, but she was curled at my feet now and ready to defend me. I could see directly outside and pulled my knit blanket down over the top of me, not relaxing until I saw Ben’s silhouette disappear all the way down the drive. After that, I looked around at the wooden atmosphere of the cabin, taking in the mismatched lamps, the giant stone fireplace, and the floor which was–you guessed it–wood. I had scrubbed this place top to bottom, put my books on the shelves, and arranged blankets on the couch to make it cozy, ‘cause, as Daddy always said, home is where the heart is. Unfortunately, home was now thick with the smell of Ben’s spicy-cheap cologne. I fought the urge to Lysol it away. At some point I dozed off, and that’s when Guinness started barking like crazy.

  Chapter Two

  _____________

  I jumped up and chucked the blanket aside as someone knocked loudly on the door. Had Ben forgotten something–a bottle of ketchup he had a hankering for? By the third bang, I ripped the door open, ready to throat chop him. The anger quickly turned to shock, and then confusion. Actually, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the town’s resident mean girl standing in front of me. I was having that sort of day.

  “Kaitlyn Patone?” The mayor’s daughter and princess prissy pants of Bohemian Lake. At first I thought Halloween had come early, but then I realized she had been crying so hard that her mascara and eyeliner had bled all down her face. “What is this, prime visiting hour?”

  “Yeah.” She pushed her way past me and nearly tripped over Guinness, who was still growling. “I need a good stiff drink.”

  Oh, no. The only thing worse than hoity-toity Kaitlyn Patone talking behind your back was pathetic, drunk Kaitlyn Patone talking to your face. I had gotten to know the mayor’s daughter pretty well when I lived here, and she was not someone I missed. Still, she looked like she could use a friend.

  “I believe there’s a bottle of red wine on the counter.” Believe, my ass. I was fully stocked on booze, but only because I’d arrived too late to call my best friend over.

  “Why are you all dressed up?”

  “I was out on a date earlier.” Kaitlyn huffed as she uncorked the bottle of red and took a swig. She critically surveyed her surroundings as she swallowed. “I never liked these rustic style homes. It’s like a tree committed suicide in here.”

  “Maybe you want to sit down? Might I suggest the dead cow?” I said, ushering her into the living room. She shrugged and plopped herself into the leather chair. I sat across from her.

  “Let’s get to the point. What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Huh? Then why’d you come over?”

  Her face contorted like she might throw up. I sat straight back against the couch, putting as much distance between us as humanly possible.

  Instead, she surprised me with her tears. Her cries ramped up fast until they became a series of unladylike snorts, the kind that resembled a barnyard animal. Finally she stopped, belched, and snatched the wine bottle back. “I got stood up.”

  “By who?”

  “I’m not ready to say who,” she said between sobs. The glue on one of her fake eyelashes had come loose and now dangled from the corner of her eye like a spider.

  “Is it someone I know?”

  “Maybe.”

  We had never been pals, to say the least, due to our varying positions on, well, everything, and it baffled me as to why she’d come here right now, unless she and Olivia had grown close. If that was the case, maybe a leopard c
ould change its razor sharp teeth… I mean spots. She certainly looked pathetic, spluttering and rubbing her hands up and down her face to divert the river of snot. Her hand trailed makeup as well as that dangling eyelash down her face and across her upper lip, resulting in a Groucho Marx lip toupee.

  “I have done so much for that man, and he just stood me up… like I was a–a nobody. Can you imagine?” She looked me over like I was gum on her shoe. “Oh, what am I saying? Of course, you know what I’m talking about. Lucas threw you over for that pretty actress, right?”

  One-two-three… I had to count to keep from punching her. When I’d calmed again, I poured myself a drink and took a big swallow. “Kaitlyn, tell me who.”

  “I told you already–I can’t tell you.”

  Well now, that’s not confusing at all.

  “Really, Penelope, I’m laying my soul bare here.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, if you don’t tell me who, then how can I help you?”

  Kaitlyn sighed dramatically, and I reached for my wine and chugged.

  “What can you tell me, then?”

  “I wanted to have his babies.”

  I fought the urge to gag.

  She sniffled. “And who else am I supposed to date now?”

  “What’s wrong with being single for a while?”

  She snorted and took a long pull of the wine. “You got any gin?”

  I did, or rather Olivia did. I turned and strode the two steps to the fridge, fishing the bottle of gin from the freezer. I cracked it and shivered at the pine tree smell. The heavy bottle chilled my hand, and I glided back to the counter and mixed us both a generous gin and tonic with a squeeze of lime.

  “How long had you been dating this mystery jerk?” I asked, handing Kaitlyn her drink.

  “I’ve known him since high school. He worshipped the ground I walked on–begged me to go out with him. I finally did, and look what he does to me.”

  “Maybe something important came up. Maybe he got in an accident, and he’s dead.” The alcohol loosened my tongue.