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CAROUSEL

Copyright 2014 Benjamin Smith

Published by Benjamin Smith at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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For the Women Who Have Inspired Me.

For My Grand Mother Jeanette Crosby who has taught me the meaning of quiet courage.

For My Wife Kim Smith, Who loved me even when she shouldn't.

And most of all for My Mother Nancy C. Smith who has stood by me regardless of circumstance, her strength has surprised me and her spirit sustains me.

Preface

She opened the car door, slid behind the wheel and snapped her seatbelt closed with a click. Half turning, she spoke to the passenger in the backseat. They’ll be so surprised to see you, she said, and inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine.

Without warning from the backseat, a hand grabbed her across the face, yanking her head back onto the headrest. The hand, far stronger than she would ever have expected, held her fast. She made ineffectual efforts to fight, but the seatbelt held her down and her own obesity made it hard to move.

Startled by the suddenness of the attack, she had no idea what would happen next as her head was jerked violently to one side. An ice pick slammed into the spot right below her skull, directly into the center of her spine, severing the nerves; she was paralyzed.

Now that the resistance had stopped, her assailant pushed the shaft deeper, harder, tracking upward until it pierced her brain. Her eyes, still wide in shock and horror, blinked once as the assassin swirled the weapon around, making sure that there was no escape for the fat woman.

What the victim thought in her last moments, no one would ever know. Perhaps she thought it was all a mistake or maybe, just maybe, she knew that this had been coming for a long, long time.

The back door opened and the killer emerged into the bright sunlight, looked over the work just completed, and opened the driver’s door. The control buttons on the panel lowered the windows and the gearshift slid easily into drive. The car began to roll down the boat ramp, picking up enough speed to launch it a little distance from the shore.

The engine stalled and the weight of the old car took it down until the water covered the roof, and for a moment it looked as if it might not sink completely. Then, with a sucking whoosh of sound, the car sank from sight.

The killer watched with satisfaction. The surgical gloves and the bloody weapon safely resided in a plastic bag retrieved from a pocket. The fat girl would never hurt anyone else again.

Justice delivered, finally, the murderer walked slowly back to the waiting car.

Chapter 1

There was a calypso band playing in Waterfront Park the night I found out Susan Cobbler was dead.

The sounds of steel drums echoed across the walkways and swings and around the slight corner to the Beaufort Downtown Marina where I lived. As I lay back on the hammock stretched across the cockpit of my boat, I listened to the music of the islands--lost in thought. The smell of the lowcountry of South Carolina filled my nostrils. The waterfront was my home. It had taken forty years of living, learning, and failing to realize that living on a boat in the marina was where I belonged.

My name is Daniel Gentry and I’m a writer.

It’d been two years since my last book was published and I was struggling with ideas for my follow up. Living as I did on the waterfront, I spent many nights in that very spot just listening to the happenings in the park. Eyes closed, I tried to place the sounds with images of the people making them. It was my exercise in imagination.

I hadn’t always been a writer of fiction. Once, I worked as a newspaper reporter, but I gave it up in pursuit of money, opening a boutique public relations firm. It ended in disaster and bankruptcy, and I wandered around until I finally found my way back to writing. This time I turned to writing novels. Fiction writing is not steady work unless you can get a publisher to pay attention to you. Luck found me in that regard. I have a friend in a high place.

The only client I kept from my days in the public relations business was my best friend, the Governor.  As a form of steady income, I wrote speeches and did some contract work for the State. Soon I’d be working on his Presidential bid.

It made me smile to think about working on a national campaign. After so many years of feeling my way around in the darkness I’d finally found the sweet spot, a place where I could be happy.

Happiness was not something I’d had a lot of. Susan Cobbler had made my life hell for a long time.

There was a refreshing breeze across the river that night and a gentle, almost imperceptible sway on my big boat as she sat tied to the dock. I could just hear the conversations of people looking out over the seawall. In my mind I saw them holding hands and watching the water. Voices of the young and newly in love dominated, but sometimes I would hear the voices of old married couples, poignant as they reminisced.

Long into the night, the sounds of the drunks coming from Luther's, or one of the other themed eateries that speckled Bay Street, punctuated the night, and of course, the teenagers, looking for Friday night's fun. Eyes still closed, I reached out with my senses and tried to see what everyone was doing, always guessing at their attire.

My concentration broke at the sound of hard soled shoes on the dock, two sets, coming in my direction. I imagined tourists sneaking onto the dock of the marina to get a close-up look at the many yachts tied alongside. To my surprise the sets of footfalls came closer and closer until they finally stopped in front of my slip. A voice I did not want to hear called my name.

Mr. Gentry? 

I cracked an eye open and sat up a little in my hammock.

Deputy Frye, I replied, looking at the uniformed officer from Beaufort County. I didn’t recognize the man with him. What brings you to the Marina on a Friday night?

Need to talk to you. This is Detective Shelley from the Newfield County Sheriff’s office. He turned slightly and nodded at the man beside him.

I opened my eyes a little fuller and sat up more, placing the Pepsi Cola can I had been holding on my chest on the deck. And what does a Newfield Sheriff want with me?

The sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable. My run-ins with the little town of Newfield and its law enforcement had become somewhat famous.

Sir, Detective Shelley began. We need to speak to you about your ex-wife, Susan.

What has she accused me of now? I sighed.

She was found dead about six hours ago, he said without preamble.

Bolting upright I focused my attention on the man. Shelley was about 5'10 and had a middle that was obviously made bigger by the bulletproof vest he wore under his button down shirt. He stood there on the dock looking intently at me to see what reaction I would have.

My children, I started.

Are safe and with their grandmother, he replied.

A deep breath entered and caught in my chest, Come aboard, I told the two getting up. Opening the door to the salon I called out to my wife, Rebecca we have company, you had better come up here.

Rebecca had been down below in the galley making a late dinner.

The two men entered the salon and I pointed them to a couch on one side while I sat in one of the chairs on the other. Rebecca emerged from the galley looking a little puzzled.

Beck, these officers are here about Susan. Before I could tell her what Shelley had said, my hot tempered wife asked, What did that fat bitch say you did now?

She's dead honey.

There was a short pause and Rebecca looked at me, and then the two cops.

We found Ms. Cobbler this afternoon, ma'am, as I was telling your husband, the detective said. Rebecca continued to stand and did not make a move from the stairwell leading from the lower level of the boat.

What happened? I asked.

The portly detective shook his head a little. Cause of death is undetermined, pending autopsy. Our investigation is ongoing. What we know so far is that she was found in her car, which had either been driven or pushed into Lake Murray. There is strong indication that she was dead before the car entered the water.

Detective Shelley pointed out that escape from the car would have been easy. It’d been almost fully submerged but they knew the victim had not drowned. Her seat belt was on and all the windows were down. Even considering her size, she could have escaped had something not prevented her from doing so.

Why are you here, then? Rebecca asked.

A crooked smile crossed my face as I looked at Shelley and he answered. This is all routine. We have to talk to the people who knew her.

He was lying and everyone in the room knew it.

Detective, I said, trying to keep my voice calm. You drove three hours to tell me this? I don't believe it. You came here to see if I killed her. You tried to shock me on the dock and wanted to see my reaction.

Shelley shifted his feet a little underneath him.

We already checked and we know you and Mrs. Gentry were here all day, Danny, Frye said before Shelley could answer. Mr. Griffith, at the marina store, said he fueled you up this afternoon about the same time Ms. Cobbler was killed.

It angered me that they had checked me out before even talking to me, but I thought better of starting yet another fight with anyone in law enforcement. After a moment of reflection, I surmised that it was probably routine for them to do what they did.

So, I said. What is it you want from us?

Shelley flipped out his notepad, one of the long pads like I had once used as a reporter. Could you tell me about Ms. Cobbler and your relationship with her?

I stifled a harrumph and shook my head as I answered. What do you want to know?

Rebecca sat down on the arm of my chair, sliding her arm around me, and for the next few minutes he questioned both of us in a casual manner, almost apologetic in his tone—almost. Personally I didn’t buy the act. It was superficial at best. Besides, my troubles with Susan were well documented, especially in Newfield.

Susan had been my wife for only five years. In that time she left a path of destruction that followed me still. My resentments against her were long and perfectly merited. More than any other person, Susan had proven to be the thorn in the lion’s paw that could not be pulled.

Can you tell me if there is anyone you know of that might wish to cause her harm? Shelley asked at the end of his routine. Rebecca answered for both of us.

Only every person that she has ever known or come into contact with, she said, glowering at the Sheriff. She loved trying to ruin people’s lives.

Shelley rose, followed by Frye, and thanked both of us for speaking with them. Frye stuck his hand out to shake mine. Danny, I am sorry that I had to come out here like this.

That I believed. Frye had never acted in a bad way towards me. He had simply done his job. Whenever Susan had wanted to drag me back into court for something, Frye had drawn the unfortunate duty of either coming to serve me papers or to take me into custody for contempt.

I appreciate that, I said, shaking his hand. We stepped back onto the cockpit so the men could leave.

We will be calling my kids and then going up there. I guess tonight or tomorrow, detective, I said. If you need to speak with us again we will be available.

He thanked me again and stepped off of my boat. We watched the two men walk purposely down the dock and head for the gang plank and shore. I reached into my pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, and shaking two loose, offered one to Rebecca and lit them both. I took a long drag, blowing the smoke in the air before speaking.

I wonder what happened.

Rebecca looked at me for a few moments and answered, She probably pissed somebody off enough to kill her or she might have just had a heart attack and drove into the lake. Who cares?

Leave it to Rebecca to cut to the heart of the matter. She loved with her whole heart and hated the same way. There was no mistake that she hated Susan.

It was Rebecca who had to clean up the mess Susan made of me after the divorce and she still lived with the baggage that I carried every day from the nightmare. In a lot of ways, she had more reason to hate Susan than I or anyone else did. She hadn’t signed up to be part of Susan's life but had ended up there anyway.

The big question now is what we are going to do next. We have to go get the kids.

My children lived with their mother, but not by choice on my part. She had stolen them away from Rebecca and me just as she had stolen so many other things.

I took another drag, reached into my pocket for my cell phone, and flipping it open hit the speed dial for my son, Cameron's, cell.

Daddy, he said, without even a hello.

Hey, Son, I said gently.

They wouldn't let me call you. Mama’s dead. He pushed back a sob. My boy acting as strong as ever. At sixteen, he’d been through more than a kid should ever have to go through.

It's okay, son. I just found out and I wanted to check on you and your sister. I kept my voice soft and low. How are you and Leigh holding up?

Sissy is crying and I am okay. Again, my brave boy was trying to be strong for his younger sister.

Listening to him talk, I knew that we had to get up to them as fast as possible and I told him that his stepmother and I would leave immediately. We might not come to the house that night but we would be there when they woke up the next morning.

I don't think I’ll sleep tonight, he said.

It’s all right, Son, try to get some rest and tell your sister that we’re on the way.

Okay, Daddy, he said. I love you.

I love you, too. Tell your grandmother that we will be there as soon as we can.

We hung up and I fished out another cigarette. While I had been talking to Cam, Rebecca had been on the phone with my mother, telling her what happened.

Mom says she’ll meet us there, she told me when I came back into the salon.

She doesn't want to ride with us, I asked.

No, she and Perry will drive up together.

Perry was my mother’s boyfriend. They’d been living together since a few months after my father died. I didn't mind, Mom had been through hell taking care of Dad.

We went downstairs and aft to our master stateroom and began to pack, saying very little in the process.

Danny, what are we going to do? Rebecca finally asked.

I thought for a moment before answering. Tonight we will drive to Newfield and get a room, tomorrow we will help the children through this, and this week we will be there when they bury their mother. 

And then finally my children would come home to where they belonged.

The question that would haunt me for a long time began that night:

Who killed Susan Cobbler?

Chapter 2

We arrived in Newfield after midnight and took a suite at the Comfort Inn where we often stayed during football season. It had been a long drive and we collapsed into bed sometime after 2am, but I could not find sleep.

I kept thinking about the world Susan had created around herself, the havoc she brought into my life and the lives of those around me.

We married two years after I graduated from Newfield College, a small school in the same town she grew up in and where she died.

Newfield. It seemed like eons ago since I’d been a young fraternity boy without a care in the world except where my next lay would come from.

In contrast, it seemed like only yesterday since I lost my children in that same town. The judge decided that because my reproductive organs were on the outside and not on the inside, I had already lost eighty percent of my custody battle with a woman with a prison record.

Six years ago, this same judge found me in contempt of court for having gone broke. In so doing, I could not pay child support.

The lawsuit over my treatment while in custody had only recently been settled. Law enforcement in Newfield did not like me very much.

Of course, Susan tried to get her hands on that money, too. She wanted it all including the royalties from my writing and everything we owned. I think she would have tried to take the shirt off my back. She even tried to take away my home, our boat Escape Plan.

Being in Newfield brought up memories I never wanted to think about again. I never dreamed that fraternity boy would end up with my life.

Fox News played on the television without my notice as I thought of all of the things that had transpired, trying in vain to wrap my brain around the thought that Susan was gone from our lives forever. The feeling was too new to qualify, but in the end, it would be a good thing. It almost gave me a feeling of relief, and that brought an immediate wave of guilt. I’d married this woman, she’d borne me two children and I considered her death might be a good thing.

Who the hell was I to make that leap?

Remembering how Susan and I became husband and wife and the utter destruction that followed, I always went back to the beginning. I would remember college and the boy I was.

Susan came into my life my junior year and I paid her no attention at all. I was far too focused on her roommate, Sherry, who I had a torrid affair with. In fact, it was Sherry I wanted most of all the girls I’d ever dated. The only problem was that Sherry, the strawberry blonde with the hard little 5'3 body and the smile that could melt the sun, was more interested in my roommate than me. As I look back now, it was fated from the beginning that Sherry and Tom Christian would be together. He was a catch because of his money and good looks, and she was a rare find because of her intelligence, beauty and personality.

More than anything, I’m thankful our affair didn’t go anywhere, because Tom and Sherry are perfect for each other.

Tom is and will always be my best friend. We were the closest of friends even before we were brothers in our fraternity, Omicron Theta. We grew up together, went to the same high school, played ball on the same team and dated the same girls. Toward the end of our senior