While 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.”
Piper 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.”
Piper 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.”
Piper 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.