Julie answered on the first ring. “How did things go for you today, Carr?”
I told her there was quite a bit to cover, so we agreed to talk in person. “I still have customers and Tripp just left, but we can talk here if you want. I will just have to keep my eye out, in case someone needs me.”
When Julie arrived about ten minutes later, there were still three customers in the store. We moved to the back office and Julie pulled a chair to my desk. With the weight of the day on both of us, the small space felt cramped. Julie’s long legs were stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, and she rubbed her face with her hands.
“Can I get you some tea or something? Something to perk us up?” I offered.
“Amazing! Yes, please,” she said.
I returned a few minutes later with two of my blue and white speckled mugs filled with steaming black tea. I settled into my desk chair and said, “My preference would have been to have a nice oolong for this time of the day. But today, that isn’t going to work. I don’t know about you, but I need a jolt. My mind is racing, but my body is dragging. Usually, I worry caffeine in the afternoon will keep me up, but it feels like tonight is going to be a long night of research.”
Over the rim of her mug, her eyes met mine. “Unfortunately, you’re not in the company of a tea connoisseur here. I’m just happy to sit down and have something delicious. Thanks, Carr.”
She sipped from her cup, then said, “Before you start recounting your day, there are few things you need to know. Let me see, here.” She opened up a notebook filled with tiny neat block handwriting that looked almost like it had been typed. “First news is that the complete coroner’s report came back. You know, we are pretty lucky, timing-wise. The county just opened these autopsy facilities at the start of this year. Before then, anything suspicious was sent to the medical university and it could take maybe eight days to get the report, if not longer. Now that we have this report, we can release the body to Carl’s family, and they can make their arrangements. Although, by family, we are talking about a sister and a niece. From what we can tell, Carl hasn’t seen or spoken to either of them in years, many years. They had almost no reaction to the news of his passing.”
After she sipped her tea and turned to a new page, she went on, “The blood panels are clear of poisons and narcotics. The full toxicology report will be at least a week away, but I feel confident in this information.” Julie looked up quickly and continued, “Time of death is not conclusive, but estimates are forty to fifty hours prior to removal from the water. Of course, this is based on Carl’s liver temperature, the pool water temperature, and the atmospheric conditions. So, that puts his death somewhere early to mid-morning on Thursday, just as Missy suggested. The coroner confirmed that Carl died from the impact of blunt force trauma to the head, which caused his intracranial hemorrhaging. He has ruled this death a homicide.”' Julie sat back in her chair and finished. “Now, we know the time of death and the cause.”
Carl’s time and cause of death, spoken into existence here in my office, pulled it from the abstract to the profound. Until now, there was another possibility at every turn: Maybe it wasn’t Carl, maybe it was accidental, maybe there was another, a better explanation than what all the signs were telling us. Now that the experts had weighed in, it was real in a way I had protected myself from fully accepting.
“It seems I am better at compartmentalizing than I thought,” I said, breaking our silence. “My mind allowed me to hold on to other possibilities, explanations, I think. I don’t know how you do this job, Julie, and face these things every single day.”
“I don’t want to say you get used to it, which sounds callous, but to a certain extent, I think you come to expect it actually—sad as it is,” Julie said. “It still bothers me when someone dies without a family to care about them. I know there are reasons for it, and a lot of the time, there are good reasons, but that never gets easier for me. Everyone starts life with so much promise. It’s hard for me to see people who end up with no one in their life. Everyone should matter to someone, I feel.”
“The same thing was on my mind the other day. Carl was important to the community, and he changed a lot of lives here. He lived here a very long time, I want people to celebrate him, I want his life to mean something, as you said. It mattered, I know, but I want Carl the person, not the realtor, not the lighthouse keeper, just Carl, to have mattered to us,” I said.
At that moment, it was clear that once this was all over, once we knew who was responsible, we would be pulled together to celebrate Carl and all the ways he touched Mongin Island. In this small community with its own challenges, we couldn’t afford to get lost in the transactions of life.
Julie nodded. “That sure would be nice. I have no idea what his sister plans to do. But, there’s time for all that after we find out what happened to him. So, tell me about your day.”
“I will,” I said. “But give me one moment.” I took Buddy out to the side yard. As Buddy sniffed around for his spot, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of island air. From somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard “take deep cleansing breaths,” like a leftover mantra from a yoga class. This fresh, salty air pushed out the distractions and with one last centering breath, I was fortified. I took Buddy back inside, checked on my customers, grabbed my canvas tote from behind the counter, and popped back into the office.
Julie listened attentively as I walked her through my conversation with Parker Turner and his uncooperative response. “Kind of a weird reaction,” Julie said. “I mean, well within his rights of course, but an odd reaction. Why put up an unnecessary roadblock? To buy time? We can get the court order if that’s how he wants to play.”
“Well, let’s explore Amelia Burke first,” I said and quickly brought her up to speed on this possible connection. Then, I shifted to the items we collected at Governor’s Point. As I spoke, I pulled the plastic bags from my tote and told her how we had tried to carefully collect the evidence. Julie’s excitement rose and I felt like someone on a drop-tower ride at the county fair as I watched it all unfold on her face.
“Thanks, Carr. I will log these into evidence.” She placed the bags into the accordion folder she had on her lap and wrapped her fingers around its top corners.
I was too excited for that. “Tell what you’re thinking,” I demanded.
She began slowly, “I am not saying these aren’t important, of course, you never know what matters in a case—but I don’t want you to get your hopes up that these trinkets, which could have been left there by anyone at any time, will be impactful. That’s all, that’s all I am saying.”
I surprised myself at how defensive I felt, like I had just taken a gut punch. Then, I realized that I knew this feeling. I had always hated producing work that wasn’t excellent. I spoke slowly, trying to hide my disappointment, “You don’t know that these things aren’t important. I know I have seen that anchor before. I just can’t remember where. It will come to me.”
“Well, when you remember more, tell me,” Julie said.
“Before we move on—Scott Campino does not know anything specific about Evan Weisman. He is familiar with the name as a real estate investor and a developer but really, that’s about it. I guess the big reveal would have been Saturday, when they were all together.”
“That makes total sense. We spoke to Mr. Weisman. He was supposed to travel to Mongin on Friday night and stay at the Inn. He confirmed that he was supposed to meet Carl for breakfast on Saturday and then head over to Governor’s Point. But, Mr. Weisman said that his office called the Inn and canceled his reservation on Thursday morning due to an unexpected commitment he needed to attend to. He sent along the cancellation email, the screen shot of the phone call, and documentation of his travel to Colorado Springs. He was not even on the east coast—he is not involved in this—except to say he was considering Governor’s Point as an investment.”
“So, you’ve confirmed that he was the mystery investor Carl was talking to.”
“Not just talking, I guess they had met several times. Carl toured some of his other properties and they had some meetings with his finance people. According to Mr. Weisman, they spent some time together—getting to know each other—and Carl did quite a bit of due diligence. This could have been a massive project for Carl—not only the land but eventually new homes sold to future owners. Big, big money. Mr. Weisman has an alibi, as I said, but we are still looking into the information regarding the deal.”
“And, one more thing,” she added. “He called Carl several times and emailed him, never heard back. Both on Thursday and on Friday. Now he knows why. I broke the news to him and have to say the man was definitely stunned. Mr. Weisman is not a man who is usually ignored and he did not appreciate the lack of response. Of course, this was before he knew what had happened. Unfortunately for Scott Campino, I think it’s going to be hard to get Mr. Weisman reinterested in a project here again.” Julie sat back and rubbed her hands on her thighs. She was beginning to show signs of strain too.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Let’s just see where all this takes us. We will process this evidence and see what we can find out about Amelia Burke. Now, let me tell you about what we found on Beach Road before I catch the boat back to the mainland.”
She looked at her watch and spoke quickly. Her story began with their exploration of the lot on Beach Road and she listed all the things her team collected as she scanned her notebook. “This is probably the most immediately usable piece of information, I guess you could call it a clue, that we found today. So, for the purposes of discussion, let’s agree that Carl Tibbons was hit in the head, maybe by a good-sized rock, okay? And also let’s agree that the large pool of blood next to the trampled grass is Carl’s. It is being tested right now to confirm this, but for now, let’s just walk through the situation.” She looked up to see if I was following this.
“Alright, so Carl Tibbons passed away at the lot on Beach Road, Thursday morning. How did he end up at Governor’s Point?” Julie asked me like it was the first time anyone had thought of it.
“Julie, that’s what we have been wondering since we first found out Carl did not drown! I mean, that’s the million-dollar question we have all asked!” I said.
“Right! But it is an especially pertinent question when you consider we pulled only ten-inch tire tracks out of the clearing path on the Beach Road lot. We have other sets of tracks going into the clearing and those are the standard eight-and-a-half inches. So, we had someone with a regular cart drive into the site, right? But, someone with a bigger, non-standard cart drove both in and out. And more importantly, both of those tire sizes are too narrow for a gas-powered car or truck, so we are only looking for carts.”
I gasped. “You mean someone did drive across the island and through the woods with Carl Tibbons, who was already dead or at least actively dying, in a golf cart? An open-air golf cart? This is what you’re saying? How did this happen without anyone seeing it?”
“The way I see it, it must have been pretty early on Thursday morning,” Julie said. “Carl must have met someone at Beach Road. Some kind of altercation occurred and Carl was seriously injured. We know he did not die immediately. Eventually, he was loaded into someone’s cart and his own cart was moved—and somehow wound up going down that embankment, where the land drops off. My thinking is that someone drove their own cart to Governor’s Point, so they could then get home or maybe to the dock to get off the island. We’ve got the ferry passenger lists for that day and everyone on it is accounted for. So, at the end of it, we come to this: Whoever caused Carl’s death either left on some other boat we haven’t identified—or is likely still on the island.”
I absorbed all this, then said, “Maybe we should consider the possibility that Carl was able to be seated in the cart and driven to Governor’s Point. If that happened, maybe the killer waited with him out there near the pool, watched him suffer, and then ultimately pass away. What a cruel and heartless thing to do!”
“The trouble with an injury like Carl’s is that oftentimes a person may not know they have a brain bleed and if they don’t get medical treatment, they die,” Julie said. “In this case, if we had a chance to examine him after he had been hit, the cut on his head and the bruising would have been a good indication of something else going on, but, of course, we didn’t get that chance. I’m saying, if someone had seen him, or found him, this could have been a preventable death.”
The idea of such a missed opportunity was a very heavy thought. Julie was right, there was a lot to process. “Somehow, it feels like we let Carl down,” I said sadly. “Logically, I know this isn’t exactly the case, I haven’t actually heard that someone saw him and did nothing to help. I guess it’s just the magnitude of what could have been done to save him.”
“Indeed, yes,” she said. “So many times, people find themselves victims of terrible circumstances. But—I guess that’s all I can tell you now. I am sorry to say, the sheriff’s boat is waiting for me. I am going to head out now. Let’s talk tomorrow morning. Hopefully, I will have a few things back from the labs and I can give you an update.”
As we walked together to the front porch, I realized that the customer who had been browsing a few minutes ago had left the store. “I am officially the worst shopkeeper,” I said. “I completely ignored that person! I have to get it together.”
Julie smiled kindly, “You can only do so many things at once. And, right now, you’re busy solving crimes!”
“I should be busy running this store! But I am happy about the progress we made today. I feel like we just have to tie all these strings together.”
As she climbed into the Tahoe, I yelled, “Julie, Julie, wait!” I waved my arms, hoping she would notice me as she backed up. She rolled down the window and leaned out.
“I remember where I saw that anchor charm, the one we found at Governor’s Point. I can’t believe it,” I said. “That charm was on Missy’s key ring, the one she had when she let me back into Carl’s house on Sunday. That charm was on her key ring, I know it. She had to fiddle with the lock and the charm swung from side to side. I am certain of it.”
We looked at each other but said nothing for a minute. Then, Julie said, “Well, that is interesting. Missy continues to be an enigma, that’s for sure. Didn’t she ask you why anyone would go to Governor’s Point? At least we know she went there after Carl was found, after Carl was already dead. Right? You saw it on Sunday, so that means she went there later that day, or I guess some other day this week. The question is why. Why did she go to Governor’s Point? What was she looking for? That is assuming this charm is hers, and not just a trinket from the lighthouse gift shop that anyone could have bought.”
“I will swing by her house again tomorrow and ask her to show me Carl’s wall map one more time so I can see her key ring,” I said. “But I agree, now that we know it probably places her there after Carl died, it’s probably a lower priority. That still leaves the silver piece we found, though.”
We said goodbye, again, and she pulled quickly out of the parking lot, heading down Old Port Passage Way. It only took a minute to gather my things and lock up. Buddy and I were soon heading home.