Read Online Bitter Legacy: A Matt Royal Mystery (Matt Royal Mysteries) by H. Terrell Griffin - Free Book Online
Authors: H. Terrell Griffin
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house.”
“Bad?”
“Pretty bad.” I told him what I had seen. “I haven’t been into the house. I’m hoping your crime-scene guy can find something.”
“Hang tight, Matt. I’ll start people moving on this. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He hung up.
I stood on the sidewalk, curious about who would vandalize my home. It didn’t look as if anybody was searching for anything in particular. It appeared to be some sort of rage-induced need to destroy. I wanted to go inside, to see how they had gotten in, but I didn’t want to disturb any evidence.
I looked at my watch. Nine p.m. I walked next door and rang the bell. Cotty Johnson answered, wearing a bathrobe. She looked at me and said, “Come on in, Matt, but don’t get any ideas just because I’m half-dressed.”
Cotty was an eighty-something-year-old widow, a good friend of many years. I laughed and followed her into her living room. A sitcom of some sort was playing on her TV, the sound turned low.
“Want something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I just got home. Somebody trashed my house.”
“Trashed your house?”
“Yeah. It looks pretty bad. I called the police.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s kind of scary. We don’t have much of that on the island.”
“I know. Did you see anybody hanging around?”
“There was a guy in a go-fast that tied up at your dock and went inside early this afternoon. I assumed he was one of your buddies.”
A go-fast is what the islanders called a cigarette-style high-powered boat, a kind we see a lot of in our area.
“Can you describe the boat?”
“Sorry, Matt. I didn’t pay that much attention. Besides, I don’t know a lot about boats.”
“What about the man driving it?”
“He was a big white guy. Shaved head. He was wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt. Sunglasses, the kind the aviators wear. Probably six feet two or three. That’s about all I can tell you.”
I laughed. “Nothing much gets by you, huh Cotty?”
I heard a car drive up out front, saw blue lights flickering in the darkness. “Thanks, Cotty. The cops are here. I’d better go. They may want to talk to you later.”
“Anything I can do to help, Matt.”
I walked back outside and met the uniformed policeman as he was getting out of his car. “Hey Matt,” he said. “The chief said to get my ass over here pronto. He’s called out our CSI guy. What’s going on?”
“Vandals, I think. But it may be more than that.”
“You think it’s tied into Logan’s shooting?”
“Could be. Cotty Johnson saw a guy in a boat come into my dock this afternoon. He went inside the house. The back door wasn’t locked, so that wouldn’t have been hard to do.”
“I’ll wait for CSI before I go in. If there’s any evidence, we’ll find it. Chief’s lit a fire. You know how he can be when he gets riled.”
I knew. As I stood chewing on the question of who the tall bald guy was, the chief pulled up in his unmarked Crown Vic. He motioned me over to a streetlight and took out his notepad. “Talk to me, Matt.”
I told him what I’d found when I opened my door, what Cotty had told me about a large bald man and how that description fit the man whohad hired Jube Smith to find me. I told him about Jube accosting me in Logan’s hotel room.
“Did you call the sheriff’s office?” Bill asked.
“No. I don’t think Jube is dangerous. He just needs to get back on his feet. The description of the bald man isn’t enough to help find him.”
“Any idea who he is?” he asked.
“None. I’d think this had something to do with Logan’s problem, except Jube didn’t seem to have any idea who Logan was.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not connected.”
“No. Jube probably doesn’t read the newspaper. He might not have known about Logan.”
“What about the black guy in the hospital?”
I told Bill what I’d told the Sarasota detective. “By the way, Kintz could be your twin.”
“Yeah, but I think I’m
“Bad?”
“Pretty bad.” I told him what I had seen. “I haven’t been into the house. I’m hoping your crime-scene guy can find something.”
“Hang tight, Matt. I’ll start people moving on this. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He hung up.
I stood on the sidewalk, curious about who would vandalize my home. It didn’t look as if anybody was searching for anything in particular. It appeared to be some sort of rage-induced need to destroy. I wanted to go inside, to see how they had gotten in, but I didn’t want to disturb any evidence.
I looked at my watch. Nine p.m. I walked next door and rang the bell. Cotty Johnson answered, wearing a bathrobe. She looked at me and said, “Come on in, Matt, but don’t get any ideas just because I’m half-dressed.”
Cotty was an eighty-something-year-old widow, a good friend of many years. I laughed and followed her into her living room. A sitcom of some sort was playing on her TV, the sound turned low.
“Want something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I just got home. Somebody trashed my house.”
“Trashed your house?”
“Yeah. It looks pretty bad. I called the police.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s kind of scary. We don’t have much of that on the island.”
“I know. Did you see anybody hanging around?”
“There was a guy in a go-fast that tied up at your dock and went inside early this afternoon. I assumed he was one of your buddies.”
A go-fast is what the islanders called a cigarette-style high-powered boat, a kind we see a lot of in our area.
“Can you describe the boat?”
“Sorry, Matt. I didn’t pay that much attention. Besides, I don’t know a lot about boats.”
“What about the man driving it?”
“He was a big white guy. Shaved head. He was wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt. Sunglasses, the kind the aviators wear. Probably six feet two or three. That’s about all I can tell you.”
I laughed. “Nothing much gets by you, huh Cotty?”
I heard a car drive up out front, saw blue lights flickering in the darkness. “Thanks, Cotty. The cops are here. I’d better go. They may want to talk to you later.”
“Anything I can do to help, Matt.”
I walked back outside and met the uniformed policeman as he was getting out of his car. “Hey Matt,” he said. “The chief said to get my ass over here pronto. He’s called out our CSI guy. What’s going on?”
“Vandals, I think. But it may be more than that.”
“You think it’s tied into Logan’s shooting?”
“Could be. Cotty Johnson saw a guy in a boat come into my dock this afternoon. He went inside the house. The back door wasn’t locked, so that wouldn’t have been hard to do.”
“I’ll wait for CSI before I go in. If there’s any evidence, we’ll find it. Chief’s lit a fire. You know how he can be when he gets riled.”
I knew. As I stood chewing on the question of who the tall bald guy was, the chief pulled up in his unmarked Crown Vic. He motioned me over to a streetlight and took out his notepad. “Talk to me, Matt.”
I told him what I’d found when I opened my door, what Cotty had told me about a large bald man and how that description fit the man whohad hired Jube Smith to find me. I told him about Jube accosting me in Logan’s hotel room.
“Did you call the sheriff’s office?” Bill asked.
“No. I don’t think Jube is dangerous. He just needs to get back on his feet. The description of the bald man isn’t enough to help find him.”
“Any idea who he is?” he asked.
“None. I’d think this had something to do with Logan’s problem, except Jube didn’t seem to have any idea who Logan was.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not connected.”
“No. Jube probably doesn’t read the newspaper. He might not have known about Logan.”
“What about the black guy in the hospital?”
I told Bill what I’d told the Sarasota detective. “By the way, Kintz could be your twin.”
“Yeah, but I think I’m
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