The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel

  The agent frowned at him. “The suspect is a trained athlete and she’s desperate—anything is possible.” She went back to her list. “I’ve been told the girl and her captor may be dressed in costumes for this, whatever it’s called. . . .”

  “Mermaid Festival.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course,” the Chief said. “We have thousands of visitors each day, and a good number of them are in costume—mermaids, sea captains, pirates, sailors, and sea creatures of all varieties. Plus we have our share of fairies and just plain unidentifiable stuff.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like Miami on a Tuesday. So what about the beaches? Do you conduct a sweep every night? Is there any chance they’re camping out illegally?”

  “We do patrol via boat, vehicle, and on foot, but we have limited staff and the island has six miles of beaches. Three of those miles are owned privately—by an invitation-only club, the marine research facility, or individual residential landowners. Only the club has camping facilities—you know, running water, fire pits, electric hookups.”

  Richard had to give the chief credit—he sounded on the ball.

  The agent in charge nodded and took notes. “We’ll be headed there first. The name of this club?”

  Chief Flynn pursed his lips. He seemed to have a hard time spitting it out.

  “The club, Chief?”

  “Yeah. It’s the Bayberry Freedom Colony. Ask for Chet and Willa Chester, and they’ll be glad to show you absolutely everything.”

  “Yeah, and don’t forget your tennis racket.”

  That mumbled comment came from one of the local cops, the big one in the middle, who was now casually gazing up toward the sky. Richard figured the place must be a private tennis club.

  Just then, Chief Flynn shot a sideways glance at Richard. There was no warmth whatsoever in his expression. In fact, it looked like the cop wanted to rip out his throat.

  He decided to kill him with kindness. “Thank you for your assistance, Chief. It’s much appreciated. I am desperate to find my daughter.”

  He got silence in response.

  It was agreed that everyone would meet at the Bayberry Police Department at six p.m., and if there were enough media outlets present to warrant it, the FBI would conduct a short news conference at that time. Before then, local cops were instructed to respond to any inquiries in the usual way: “We cannot comment on an ongoing FBI investigation.”

  The agents split into two groups and set out in the borrowed Jeeps, Richard accompanying Apodaca and her second fiddle. He had to say that after a few minutes, he began to enjoy the view of the pretty little island as it zipped past the open passenger window.

  “Strange place,” the agent in the backseat said.

  Apodaca laughed. “I’ve seen much stranger.”

  “It appears they’re annoyed we’re here, though,” Richard said.

  “Yeah, it happens.” Apodaca took a hard left onto something called Shoreline Road without even slowing down. “Locals can get a little territorial when we show up. They think we’re questioning their abilities, or stealing their thunder. You know—stepping on their toes.”

  Richard decided he would let that analysis go without comment. In this case, he knew it was more than that. The police chief’s demeanor had gone far beyond territorial. When he looked Richard in the eye, his dislike felt personal.

  It felt like a warning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The police station’s front door flew open with such force that it cracked the plaster wall behind it. Clancy, Deon, Jake, and Cam automatically reached for their weapons, then put them away as soon as they saw who it was.

  “I know her! The criminal! She was my mystery guest!”

  Deon leaned toward Clancy. “The motel dude, right?”

  Clancy sighed like this was just another tedious encounter with Cosmo Katsakis, but his heart raced and his palms began to sweat. Shit. Katsakis was a loose end—he’d given Clancy a copy of Evie’s fake ID. Somehow, Clancy had to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

  Cam smiled at their visitor. “Why don’t you come on in and we’ll get you a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t want your bad coffee! I know her, that’s what I’m trying to tell you! That kidnapper girl! And she broke into my computer system!”

  Cosmo was so out of breath Clancy worried he was having a heart attack. Did he run all the way from the motel? He peeked out the window. No—Cosmo ran all the way from his golf cart, now illegally parked directly in front of the station.

  “Mr. Katsakis, you need to relax.” Clancy took a step toward him. “Maybe some water would be better.” Deon headed off to the break room.

  “I don’t need no coffee, no water, no treatment like I’m a crazy man! I need to talk to the FBI! It’s a conspiracy, I tell you, and I don’t trust you chowderheads to take my testimony!”

  Cam let go with a long and low whistle.

  “Get me the FBI on the phone!”

  “We can do better than that, sir.” Jake gave him a pleasant smile. “The FBI is here on the island. They will be back to the station within the hour. You can talk to them personally.”

  “Good!” Cosmo crossed his arms over his stained shirt. “’Cause I’m not gonna move nowhere until I speak to them!”

  “Here’s your water, sir.” Deon handed him a paper cup, which he did not accept.

  Deon set it down, looked at Clancy, and rolled his eyes.

  “All right, Mr. Katsakis.” Clancy sat down in the chair nearest to him. “Here are your options. You can wait here with us, make new friends in one of the holding cells, or relax in our luxurious break room, which has a TV.”

  “Show me the way.”

  They escorted him to the lunch room and handed him the remote control.

  “Hey! You said it was luxurious. This is disgusting!”

  Cam closed the door and whispered, “That guy thinks our break room is disgusting. What does that say about us?”

  Jake asked, “Is he on something?”

  Clancy shook his head. “It’s his God-given charm.”

  “Hmph,” Deon said. “I’d say he ranks about a six on the cray-cray scale.”

  Only minutes after they had returned to their posts, the door opened again, this time politely.

  “Hi, guys.”

  Clancy smiled patiently at Heather Hewes, the local press barnacle. Heather was an earnest young woman with big dreams—she was determined to be a 60 Minutes producer one day. What she lacked in spelling skills, camera work, and factual accuracy, she more than made up for with enthusiasm. “What’s happening, Heather?”

  “I was hoping you’d tell me. I need something sexy or this festival week will be a washout.”

  “We don’t do it for you?”

  She shook her head at Deon. “In the biz we use that word to mean exciting, something to catch the public’s attention. Not, you know, actual sex.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “So, can you give me an exclusive on the kidnapper, Chief?”

  He almost laughed—why, yes, he could, and no, he wouldn’t. “Now, Heather, you know our policy. We don’t comment on ongoing criminal investigations, especially those coordinated by the FBI.”

  “Well, crap.” She sighed, pushing up her glasses. “I’m just not finding anything good to write about. This has got to be the most boring Mermaid Festival in the history of Bayberry Island.”

  “Yeah.” Clancy sighed. “One for the record books, I’m afraid.”

  “How about that pirate boy who almost drowned yesterday? Any word on him? I tried to interview the family but they weren’t very cooperative. Are they even still on the island?”

  Clancy shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Heather. There are a lot of kids running around this place right now.”

&nbs
p; She groaned in frustration. “One last thing. An anonymous tipster called the paper today. The message he left was pretty shocking.”

  Clancy’s spine straightened. Was this the husband from the ferry? Katsakis? Old John, even? He made sure he sounded only marginally interested. “Oh? What was the message?”

  “He said one of the chili cook-off entries was tainted with ’shrooms again. Is there any truth to this allegation?”

  “Day-um.” Deon shook his head.

  “I have no evidence to support that claim, Heather. I’ll let you know if there are developments we can share in either matter.”

  She sighed. “See? Dull, dull, dull!” Heather left.

  Not much later, Clancy went to check on Katsakis. He poked his head in the break room to find him sitting with his arms crossed over his sauce stains, watching Headline News. A can of diet Dr Pepper sat in front of him on the lunch table. “Doing okay, Mr. Katsakis?”

  “I’m not talking to you. Only the FBI.”

  “Well, they should be here in about twenty minutes.” Clancy suddenly noticed a lingering scent of spicy food. There was nothing in the microwave or on the stove, however, so he figured it was just the way Katsakis smelled in a closed room. “I see you already located the soda. There might be some chips in the cabinet.”

  “I already found something to eat. Leave me alone, Flynn.”

  Something to eat . . . oh, hell no! As casually as he could, Clancy strolled inside the break room, opened the freezer, and found it empty save for the ice cube trays, a freezer-burned tub of ice cream, and a frosty Post-it note, which had fallen off the evidence bag.

  Clancy shut the freezer. He looked into the garbage can. Yep, the bag was in the trash. He looked into the sink. Yep, the plastic container was empty. He took a moment to compose himself.

  “Hey, Flynn. If that was your lunch, then I guess I’m sorry. But you’re not a very good cook. It had a strange taste. Needed more cinnamon. The Greeks put cinnamon, cumin, and sometimes cocoa in their chili—did you know that?”

  “How much did you eat?”

  “I said I was sorry!”

  “How much, Mr. Katsakis?”

  “I ate it all! So shoot me!”

  Clancy thought this through. On the off chance his father had been right and the contest entry was tainted, then it might be wise to call the EMTs. “Are you good? You feeling all right?”

  “Why do you care how I’m feeling? I’m a little gassy. There. Now you know.”

  Suddenly, it dawned on him that if the chili was, in fact, psychogenic, the credibility of anything Cosmo might say to the FBI would suffer. Could he really have gotten this lucky? For the first time in recent memory, he hoped his father’s “mayornoia” was legit.

  “I’ll let you know when the federal agents arrive.” He shut the break room door.

  Fifteen minutes later, the borrowed Jeeps rolled into the parking lot. Clancy, Deon, and Cam glanced at each other, barely able to keep from laughing. They were about to learn how the agents enjoyed their sightseeing tour of the island.

  The three special agents who canvassed the industrial area, boardwalk businesses, and Island Day vendors looked no worse for the wear. But Congressman Wahlman, Apodaca, and her sidekick appeared shell-shocked.

  “How did it go?” Deon came off as business-as-usual, but no one answered him. “Uncover anything noteworthy?”

  Clancy had to momentarily turn his attention to some papers on the front desk or he was going to lose it.

  “Thank you for asking.” The Special Agent in Charge sounded noticeably snippy. “The answer would be, ‘fuck no, we are not okay.’”

  “I may never be okay again,” her sidekick said.

  Clancy looked up just as Wahlman glared at him. He seemed somewhat less stunned than his friends, but certainly not happy. “You might have had the courtesy to tell us exactly what kind of private club the Bayberry Freedom Colony is.”

  Clancy looked surprised. “What? I thought you knew! I am so sorry.”

  “I just bet,” Wahlman said.

  Cam got Clancy’s attention and nodded his head toward the break room.

  “Ah, yes.” Clancy addressed Apodaca. “We have a witness here who claims he saw the kidnapper. He’s in our break room.”

  “Finally—something normal.”

  “Don’t know if I’d go that far, Agent,” Deon said. “He came in here acting a little woo-woo. Something about a computer conspiracy.”

  Deon and Clancy led Wahlman and the agents to the break room. As Clancy opened the door he thought to himself, Please, please let there be shroomers!

  Mr. Katsakis sat with his head bent low over the table, his index finger making tiny shapes on the cracked enamel surface. He was having a conversation with . . . his fingernail.

  Yes!

  “This is Cosmo Katsakis, he owns the Sand Dollar Motel. Mr. Katsakis? The FBI is here to take your statement.”

  He raised his head with an agonizing slowness and smiled. “Thank you for bringing me the beautiful tray of dolmades last year,” he said, immediately crossing himself three times.

  The agent in charge cocked her head at Clancy. “Really? The naked old people weren’t enough?”

  One of the other agents sat down next to Cosmo. “What did we bring you last year, Mr. Katsakis?”

  “The stuffed leaves of the precious grape, with lamb and rice and spices, all kinds of beautiful colors dancing on the platter and spinning in the wind like—” He suddenly pointed at the break room wall and let go with a horrified scream. “It’s on fire! Everything’s on fire!” His panic stopped as quickly as it started. Now calm, Cosmo glanced up at Clancy apologetically. “I thought it was on fire. I really did.”

  “Yeeaahh.” The special agent got out her notebook. “What is your statement about the suspect, sir?”

  Katsakis seemed to snap back to reality. His eyes focused.

  Uh-oh.

  “She checked into adjoining rooms with a fake ID and dressed the girl up like a boy. She paid cash. Probably bribed my Albanian, but he won’t confess.”

  No one spoke.

  “You don’t believe me, do you? Well, I saw her license, but now”—he pointed an accusatory finger at Clancy—“right after you asked for a copy it just disappeared! Poof! It was zapped out of our computers, like it was never even there! She might even be a spy!”

  “I see.” The agent turned to Clancy. “I’ll need you to provide me with his contact information.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you for your time, sir.” She shoved her little notebook back in her pocket.

  Clancy whispered to Deon, “I think maybe we should call the EMTs.”

  “No shit.”

  A half hour later, Mr. Katsakis was on his way to the hospital in Nantucket and the news conference was over. Clancy couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been. The FBI would be leaving without finding anything on Bayberry linked to the kidnapping case. When everyone was loaded in the helicopter and ready to take off, Clancy started to breathe easier. But a door flew open. Out popped Congressman Wahlman, who marched right up to Clancy.

  “A word, if you don’t mind.” He grabbed Clancy by the arm and pulled him farther from the helicopter. He still had to shout over the propeller noise. “You have a grievance with me, Chief?”

  Clancy shouted back. “Should I? Have you done something against the law?”

  Wahlman’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  Clancy shrugged. “I asked if you’d violated the laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in some way, because that would be the only reason I’d have a grievance with you. Is there something you’d like to confess for the greater good of society?”

  Wahlman laughed. “So you’re a social worker, too?”

  “Nope.” Clancy got right in his face. ??
?I’m a cop. And as a cop, I am always looking out for public safety and the integrity of our legal system.”

  Wahlman’s face fell. He was about to respond, but decided against it. The congressman marched back to the helicopter.

  Clancy shook his head and watched him go, and Deon sidled up next to him. “What was that all about?”

  “Maybe someday I’ll tell you the whole story.” He slapped Deon on the back. “Right now we’re late for shift change.”

  * * *

  The sun was still bright when Evelyn saw Clancy’s Jeep pull up the gravel drive. She jumped from the chair and quickly checked her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She looked as worn-out as she felt. There was no way around it—her face advertised stress and exhaustion and it was time to admit that the Brigitte Nielsen look didn’t work for her. Of course, being attractive hadn’t exactly been at the top of her list for the last couple months. It still wasn’t. But with Clancy around, it was now at least on the list.

  She watched him exit the Jeep and pull the seat forward. Two large Labrador retrievers, one black and one chocolate, tumbled onto the ground and began an out-of-control dance of happiness. They were so cute! On closer inspection, it looked as if the black dog was missing a leg. It sure didn’t seem to slow him down any. The dogs went running along the side of the house and headed toward the backyard.

  Christina’s head popped up from her coloring project. “That him? That the guy?” Mercifully, Evelyn had found some markers in the kitchen junk drawer and printer paper on a living room bookshelf, and set up her niece at the dining room table. The activity had kept her busy for at least a half an hour, which was a half hour during which Christina didn’t obsess about the pretty mermaid—she just would not let it drop.

  “Yes, that’s him. He brought his dogs, too. So let’s be gentle and give them a chance to smell us, okay?”

  “Okay!” She flew off the chair and ran toward thedoor.

  “And remember how we decided to be polite and call him ‘Officer Clancy’?”