Page 46 of Smuggler's Cove
“What does that have to do with us? The marina?”
“Since the transfer to Uncle Kirby was a result of a gambling debt, we need a clear title.”
“But I thought all of that was taken care of.” Madison was losing hope of ridding herself of this debacle.
“Yes and no. We must get the area surveyed.”
Madison began to moan.
“Listen, we don’t have to do anything for the moment. We give them our statement, and then we can work on the survey and everything else some other time.”
“Are there taxes due on the property?” Madison asked.
“Doesn’t seem to be.”
Lincoln slowly drove past the marina. There was yellow crime-scene tape marking off two of the three piers that jutted out into the water. Onlookers were trying to get a glimpse of the area where the body was recovered. Madison slumped down in her seat. “They’re not looking for you,” Lincoln teased her.
“Not yet,” Madison scoffed. “At this pace, I will be arrested for assaulting the deck with my shoes. Or my face.”
“Oh, stop it.” Lincoln laughed.
Madison huffed and slinked up a bit to grab a peek. There were several police officers, a police boat, men in slickers, and some in underwater gear. “I hope they removed the body.” She turned her head.
“I am sure they did.” Lincoln looked over at Olivia and rolled his eyes.
Lincoln continued to the police station where Detective Burton, a stenographer, and another officer were waiting.
Detective Burton was over six feet tall and robust, clean-shaven with a bald head. He seemed to be in his early 40s. He wore a crisp white shirt and tie, looking very official. “Thank you for coming in. I realize this is not exactly what you had planned when it came to your uncle’s marina.”
“That is for certain.” Lincoln jumped in before his sister had a chance.
“Right this way, please.” He showed them down a sparkling clean hallway, with bright light shining through the glass. “New office. We got wiped out during Superstorm Sandy, and it took ten years to get us moved out of the ‘temporary’ trailers.”
“That storm did quite a number on the shore. And Lower Manhattan,” Lincoln added.
“There were some anomalies. Most of the town was six feet deep in water, yet there were a few streets that had nothing. Take your uncle’s place, for example. We joked and said, ‘He was at the right place, at the right tide.’ The shack took a soaking, but nothing fell over.”
“Was that before or after he won the bet?” Madison was curious.
“It was actuallythebet,” Burton began to tell the story. “Your uncle predicted that the water line was not going to damage the shack. Billy Bob disagreed and said—I’m paraphrasing here—‘If that shack is still standing, then it’s yours, along with the marina.’ ”
“Almost sounds like a local legend,” Lincoln said, with a bit of curiosity.
“We have plenty of those, but we also had a few witnesses. Billy was a man of his word and turned the deed over to Kirby. Besides, he was planning to move to Florida to be with his daughter and grandchildren. The tax and insurance were draining him. He was quite happy with the outcome.”
At least somebody was,Madison thought to herself.And here we are.She continued to follow the detective down the hall.
Burton opened a door to a small conference room. Madison noticed how chilly it was in there.
The detective noticed Madison’s reaction to the temperature. “It keeps people awake and alert.” He chuckled. “Please take a seat. Can we get you coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Water, thank you,” Madison replied. Burton reached over to a tray of bottled water that sat on the sideboard and handed one to her.
The commanding detective opened a file. “We still have not been able to identify the deceased. The bloating made it tough for the coroner to pull fingerprints.”
Madison hoped the ghastly details would remain at a minimum.
“We also do not know if it was foul play, suicide, or an accident. The body was in unbelievably bad shape.”
