Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) by Jeanne Glidewell
Authors: Jeanne Glidewell
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body on its side. Rigor mortis had already set in, so it was like turning a mannequin over, or, more aptly, a tuna that'd been chilling on ice for an hour or two. I listened as Rip continued to voice his observations. "He's got a three-to four-inch laceration on the back of his skull, but has already had metal staples applied to close the wound."
Without thinking, I said, "So his attacker hit him with something before he shot him with the spear-gun?"
Rip graced me with his oft-used "duh" expression, and said, "The fact he'd already received medical attention for the wound makes it clear it had no bearing on his death, dear. Did you really think the attacker whacked him on the head, closed the wound with a suturing staple gun he just happened to have on him, and then proceeded to shoot him dead with a spear?"
Without even waiting for my response to his sarcastic, rhetorical question, he continued, "But I do think the odds are good that whoever caused this wound came out here in the middle of no-man's land to finish the job. The killer would have known there'd be a slim chance of the murder being witnessed by anyone out here."
He then turned to Milo, and asked, "Know anything about this head wound?"
After a brief interlude, Milo slowly shook his head. His hesitancy made me think he knew more about the laceration than he cared to share. But given the circumstances, I could understand Milo's reluctance to own up to any knowledge about anything at all.
"Do you think your other fishing buddy might have gone out with him on his fishing trip?" Rip then asked. "What'd you say his name was again?"
"Pinto; and no, I can guarantee you that he wasn't out here with Coop."
"Why are you so sure?" Rip asked. Before Milo replied, he exhaled loudly and slowly. He then looked up briefly, as if asking God for guidance before speaking.
"Pinto doesn't have time to fish right now. He's out on his boat working daybreak to dusk this time of year. I'm almost positive he didn't accompany Cooper," Milo said. His expression was that of remorse, more than sorrow. "I doubt Pinto even knew Coop was out here. If he did know, he wouldn't have been happy about it. But that doesn't mean someone else didn't come out fishing with him."
"Any idea who else might have accompanied him?" Rip asked.
"No, not really. But I know it wasn't Pinto." Milo seemed intent on making sure his friend, Pinto, was not suspected of Cooper's death. Almost too intent in my opinion.
"Pinto's sure an odd name," I said.
"Everyone calls him that because of his last name. His first name is actually Philip, but—"
"All right, folks. We need to get a move on," Rip cut in. I could tell Rip would have liked to continue his Q and A session with Milo, but knew time was of the essence. His years of experience in dealing with emergency situations had taken over. "Get back on the radio, Milo, and notify the Coast Guard of our discovery. Then ask them to advise us."
Milo contacted the Coast Guard once more to report the finding of his friend while Rip and I held on tightly to Cooper. It was as if we were afraid the body would unexpectedly come back to life and take flight, forcing us to begin searching for it again. I listened to Milo as he conversed with another man over the marine radio. The great despair in Milo's tone saddened me. His responses to Rip had indicated he might have had some prior knowledge of Claypool's death, but now his voice and demeanor said differently. Milo's contradictory reactions confused me.
The man on the other end was relieved to hear we'd retrieved Cooper's body and asked that we bring it in with us. With a lot of square miles to search, it might have taken many hours to locate the body in the morning, the man said. Was the Coast Guard rescue team truly afraid we'd just dump Cooper's carcass back in the water and let them try to track it down the following day? But then I realized these men had probably dealt with a number of dim-witted morons in the past
Without thinking, I said, "So his attacker hit him with something before he shot him with the spear-gun?"
Rip graced me with his oft-used "duh" expression, and said, "The fact he'd already received medical attention for the wound makes it clear it had no bearing on his death, dear. Did you really think the attacker whacked him on the head, closed the wound with a suturing staple gun he just happened to have on him, and then proceeded to shoot him dead with a spear?"
Without even waiting for my response to his sarcastic, rhetorical question, he continued, "But I do think the odds are good that whoever caused this wound came out here in the middle of no-man's land to finish the job. The killer would have known there'd be a slim chance of the murder being witnessed by anyone out here."
He then turned to Milo, and asked, "Know anything about this head wound?"
After a brief interlude, Milo slowly shook his head. His hesitancy made me think he knew more about the laceration than he cared to share. But given the circumstances, I could understand Milo's reluctance to own up to any knowledge about anything at all.
"Do you think your other fishing buddy might have gone out with him on his fishing trip?" Rip then asked. "What'd you say his name was again?"
"Pinto; and no, I can guarantee you that he wasn't out here with Coop."
"Why are you so sure?" Rip asked. Before Milo replied, he exhaled loudly and slowly. He then looked up briefly, as if asking God for guidance before speaking.
"Pinto doesn't have time to fish right now. He's out on his boat working daybreak to dusk this time of year. I'm almost positive he didn't accompany Cooper," Milo said. His expression was that of remorse, more than sorrow. "I doubt Pinto even knew Coop was out here. If he did know, he wouldn't have been happy about it. But that doesn't mean someone else didn't come out fishing with him."
"Any idea who else might have accompanied him?" Rip asked.
"No, not really. But I know it wasn't Pinto." Milo seemed intent on making sure his friend, Pinto, was not suspected of Cooper's death. Almost too intent in my opinion.
"Pinto's sure an odd name," I said.
"Everyone calls him that because of his last name. His first name is actually Philip, but—"
"All right, folks. We need to get a move on," Rip cut in. I could tell Rip would have liked to continue his Q and A session with Milo, but knew time was of the essence. His years of experience in dealing with emergency situations had taken over. "Get back on the radio, Milo, and notify the Coast Guard of our discovery. Then ask them to advise us."
Milo contacted the Coast Guard once more to report the finding of his friend while Rip and I held on tightly to Cooper. It was as if we were afraid the body would unexpectedly come back to life and take flight, forcing us to begin searching for it again. I listened to Milo as he conversed with another man over the marine radio. The great despair in Milo's tone saddened me. His responses to Rip had indicated he might have had some prior knowledge of Claypool's death, but now his voice and demeanor said differently. Milo's contradictory reactions confused me.
The man on the other end was relieved to hear we'd retrieved Cooper's body and asked that we bring it in with us. With a lot of square miles to search, it might have taken many hours to locate the body in the morning, the man said. Was the Coast Guard rescue team truly afraid we'd just dump Cooper's carcass back in the water and let them try to track it down the following day? But then I realized these men had probably dealt with a number of dim-witted morons in the past
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