“Plan on it and I’ll call you back if it’s not copasetic.” Dee Dee rolled her eyes at my use of the word copasetic. I rolled mine right back. “Where do you want to meet? We’re on the square close to an antique shop named Magnolia Books and Antiques.”
“There’s a café on the far corner called Tara’s. Can you meet me there in about twenty minutes?” Desperation laced his voice.
“Sure. We’ll see you in a little while.”
Trix, what did you get yourself into? Lord, help me. My hands shook and my palms were slick with perspiration. What did Doc expect me to do? And why was he in this predicament anyway? My taut shoulders violently quivered. The call must have shaken me more than I realized. An anxious voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Hey, girl. What are you so worked up about? Whatever’s going on with Doc, you just might have to—”
“You’re not going to believe this Dee Dee. Doc was taken in for questioning. He didn’t want to explain over the phone, so he asked us to meet him in about twenty minutes.”
“We promised bushy-eyed Bowerman we’d stay out of his way,” Dee Dee said.
“My job could depend on solving this case. Meeting someone for coffee isn’t the same as crossing police tape.” Despite my brave exterior, genuine concern ushered us out the door.
A blast of steamy air hit us as we stepped outside and down the street. The sun beat mercilessly, heating the sidewalk. The temperature was on its way to hitting the nineties. Tourists looked as bedraggled as I felt. My throbbing knee forced me to move like a little old lady. It was slow going to the café. Dee Dee sensed my discomfort and slowed her pace to match mine.
Tara’s appeared as an oasis in the desert. A blast of cool air welcomed us, and the inside of Tara’s proved clean and inviting. Single roses in bud vases splashed color against white tablecloths scattered throughout the dining area. Bright blue, yellow and green accented the décor. A glass cabinet full of luscious desserts ran the length of the bar by the register.
Dee Dee and I agreed we were stressed, and everyone knows stressed spelled backwards equals desserts. We treated ourselves to a diet Coke and a slice of seven layer chocolate cake while we waited on Doc. Between decadent bites of cake we discussed the murder at the Marietta History Museum.
While we waited, I observed our fellow patrons for entertainment. I’ve been told I’m nosey, but I don’t see it that way. A writer must be observant. You never know when you might discover a story or acquire a new character.
For instance, consider the woman who just entered the door. I pegged her forty-something hoping to pass for twenty-something. Dressed in a short blue jean skirt, tube top, and white cowgirl boots, she made quite an impression. She sported blonde hair, complements of L’Oreal, and blue eye shadow applied to her entire eyelid. Think Robin Egg Blue.
I felt a jab to my shin. Dee Dee kicked me to get my attention. Doc came through the door. I waved to him and he headed over, looking awful. His hair was uncombed, and his clothes rumpled. He glanced our way and the corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards, making a feeble attempt at a smile. We scooted our chairs around to make room. He plopped down in the delicate seat and dropped his head in his hands.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Doc, do you want a drink?” I didn’t wait for an answer. It was obvious he needed something stiffer than diet cola, so I sent Dee Dee to get him a high-test Coke.
He took a couple of sips, sat up and shared his story. “Like I said on the phone, I’m in trouble. Detective Bowerman took me to the station and questioned me for over two hours. I know I’m on top of his suspect list.”
“What makes you think that, Doc?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “Maybe he just thinks you know more than anyone else, because of your position at the museum.”
“He told me I was their person of interest.” He emitted a nervous laugh and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
Dee Dee interjected, her fork flinging bits of cake around the table. “Trixie and I discussed the fingerprint issue. They must be on everything in the museum. I can’t imagine he’d base his suspicions on the appearance of your prints?”
I remembered he did have motive. “Did he discover you fired Jacob?”
Doc nodded, and with this confession, turned white as the flour Nana used for her biscuits. Like a bolt of lightning, it occurred to me Detective Bowerman must have something else on Doc.
I leaned forward. “Doc, what aren’t you telling me?” My whispered question rustled the petals on the rose between us.
Doc’s lips trembled. Silence prevailed before he shared an unbelievable tale. “It began a long time ago. After I finished my tour of duty in Vietnam. I didn’t want to come back to the states and face what so many fellow soldiers endured when they returned.
“So I naively decided to go as far away as possible. The Bahamas seemed like the perfect place to escape from reality.” He sucked in a deep breath and continued.
“I wound up in Nassau. I worked a year on one of the local fisherman’s boats. It wasn’t the most glamorous job. I cleaned fish, scrubbed the boat, helped with the line fishing and any other job that needed done. It didn’t pay much, but it was enough.”
Doc took a long drink. I had no idea where this was going, but I could tell the memories were troubling this kind man. Dee Dee and I exchanged glances, anxious to hear the rest of the story. Doc gingerly sat the glass down on the table. He studied the container as if the answer to his problems lay at the bottom.
“There was a local man who worked on the same boat as I did. He stayed in trouble and made more enemies than friends. Mickel was extremely knowledgeable about the fishing trade and became an asset to the boat owner. I’m sure it’s the only reason they kept him on. I tried to stay out of his way, and I did for a long time. Then one night we were in the same bar – The Golden Conch. He drank enough to kill a normal man, but it didn’t kill him; it just made him meaner than the devil himself.
“Mickel badgered me because I wasn’t an islander. He’d goaded me since I started working, and I guess he wasn’t too happy I hadn’t responded to his taunts. He went wild. He pushed me around, and when I didn’t fight back, he sucker-punched me. I wasn’t going to stand by and let him beat me to a pulp so I fought back.” Beads of sweat dotted Doc’s forehead.
“When he saw I wasn’t going to give up, he pulled out a machete, and charged like a raging bull. Without thinking, I grabbed the closest thing I could reach, and hit him over the head. I wanted to stop him. I didn’t mean to kill him – it was just a beer bottle.”
Doc dropped his head. I saw tears in his eyes before his hands covered his face. Maybe it was emotional exhaustion, or maybe he didn’t want us to see him cry.
Dee Dee shrugged her shoulders, and I knew what she thought. How could this gentle man have killed someone – even in self-defense? A thousand questions flowed through my mind.
While we gave him a few minutes to collect his composure, we ordered another drink. I ordered Doc a piece of raspberry cheesecake. I hoped the treat would comfort him in some small way.
Dee Dee and I made small talk and sat quietly out of respect for Doc, but I couldn’t help wondering. I’d gauged Doc for a gentleman. Was I wrong? He’d just admitted he was guilty of murdering before. Was it possible he’d felt threatened enough again?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Are you telling us Detective Bowerman found out about your barroom...um, brawl?”
“Yes, he did. Interpol, I guess. It happened so long ago; I haven’t thought of Mickel in years. At the time, I feared I might spend the rest of my days locked away in a Nassau prison.