Murder's Not Cool Read online

  Murder’s Not Cool

  By David Perlmutter

  Copyright 2011 by David Perlmutter

  Cover Copyright 2011 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  Murder’s Not Cool

  By David Perlmutter

  1.

  Harry, Babs, Joyce and I were hanging out on the beach when it happened. That’s not too surprising, since the four of us usually hang out there together on the weekends. There isn’t a whole lot for twelve-year-olds to do in a small Pacific coast town like Rock Cove. Hell, we have to go up north to British Columbia if we want to get up to any serious mischief, since most days there isn’t too much of consequence that goes on around here. Or so you’d think. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  It was late in the afternoon when the whole deal went down. We had just finished our first round of Cokes and were preparing to return to the snack bar for more when we spotted the dead body. Or rather, Ispotted it—bobbing up and down in the water just across from us on the shoreline, in the water—and let the others know about it, mostly by the scared, stuttering reaction I usually exhibit when I see something creepy.

  “What’s the matter, Sheldon?” Joyce asked me, but she figured it out right away as soon as she turned over my way and spotted the body herself. They don’t call her “Poindexter” around the school for nothing!

  “What is it, Shel?” added Babs. “A politician?” This latter remark was inspired by my supposedly “irrational” fear of this group of people.

  “It don’t look like one,” said Harry, viewing the body through his binoculars. “Clothes aren’t expensive enough. You’re safe, Shel!”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Ha, ha!” said Joyce sarcastically. “All right, enough with the jokes! There’s a dead body in the water out there, and we’ve got to identify it!”

  “Why have we got to do it?” Babs whined.

  “You see anybody else around here?” Joyce countered.

  Harry, Babs and I shook our heads.

  “My point exactly!”

  We discarded our shoes and socks, rolled up our pant legs (all except Joyce, who was wearing a black skirt), and we each took hold of one limb and brought the body onto the shore. It was when we turned it over, face up, that we really got shocked.

  The body was that of our friend and middle-school classmate Francy Goldenson!

  I was so shocked that I came close to tearing out all of my brown hair. The color nearly drained out of Harry’s black face. Joyce took off her glasses and started crying. Only Babs seemed to react without obvious emotion; she had her reputation as a tomboy to consider, after all. It was Joyce who spoke first.

  “It’s Francy!” she wailed. “And she’s… dead!”

  Babs wouldn’t have us wimp out like that. She stood between us and the body, her arms heavily muscled from her many athletic endeavors, and grunted for our attention as she shook her strawberry blonde hair in the wind.

  “Snap out of it, guys!” she demanded. “There’s nothing we can do about it. She’s gone!”

  “Don’t be mean, Babs!” Joyce said, wiping her eyes and putting her glasses back on. “Our friend is dead!”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t mean you three have to be weepy wimps about it!” replied Babs. “I’m as upset as you are, but you don’t see me cryin’ over spilt milk!”

  “But there must be something we can do!” said Harry, brushing a hand through his hair.

  “There is!” I added solemnly. “I can tell Mrs. Goldenson what happened. Besides, she might know something about this.” I pointed to a pearl I had found in the water bobbing next to the body, quite obviously detached from what had once been a string around the body’s neck.

  “But, Sheldon…” Joyce protested.

  “What?” I demanded. “You saying I lack tact? I’m the most diplomatic guy around! You guys know that! Besides, better Mrs. Goldenson hears about it from somebody she’s actually acquainted with than some high-pressured, unemotional cop from out of town, don’t you think?”

  “Listen, Shel!” said Babs. “Ordinarily, I’d say just go off and do the damn thing. But let’s get one thing straight. You’re not going anywhere near Mrs. Goldenson without us going with you. Remember, Francy was as much our friend as she was yours!” She pointed one of her big, strong fingers at my weak chin. Harry and Joyce stared at me hard behind her.

  “I…wouldn’t have it any other way!” I answered nervously.

  2.

  “Are you quite sure it was Francy there?”

  “Yes, Ma’am!”

  “You checked the body?”

  “Of course!”

  “And it was just on the ground, like that?”

  “Yeah. With her pants down to her ankles, just like that. Looks like some perv got to her.”

  We were now at the Goldenson’s, breaking the sad news to Mrs. Goldenson. I was the one who was answering her questions, as I had been delegated. It was difficult getting a clear answer from her since she was crying so badly. And that got even worse when I showed her the pearl, which she quite clearly recognized as part of a set that Francy had borrowed from her on the night that she died.

  When you live in as small a town as Rock Cove, everybody pretty much knows everybody else’s affairs. And the four of us, along with our parents and the rest of the town, knew a fair amount of the rather sordid problems that Mrs. G., Francy and Mrs. G.’s estranged ex-husband had been going through recently. Francy had become the object of a tug-of-war between Mrs. G. and her former better half, with each of them trying to prove themselves the better parent by stabbing the other one in the back. I know how it is, ’cause my dad tried that stuff against my mom in court and it backfired big time, which is why I live full time with her now. Anyway, back to the point. Mrs. Goldenson’s stress level had been on high recently, as had Francy’s, and their relationship had taken a turn for the worse. We tried talking to Francy about it at school, but she would have none of it. So, obviously things were bad—but we never expected this.

  “I only wish we could have been around to stop it, Mrs. Goldenson,” I said. “The four of us could have taken that perv easy!”

  “Says you!” said Harry.

  “Hey!” said Babs. “Icould have taken him easy—you guys just would’ve watched!”

  “Until you killed him!” said Joyce. “You always play too rough!”

  “I had no idea where she’d gone,” Mrs. Goldenson said. “She just…ran away and said she was going to get…away…from Rock Cove. Turns out she got away…from a lot more than that!”

  We said our goodbyes and left. Joyce looked like she still wasn’t satisfied with the completion of this task, which was why we confronted her on it right away.

  “I don’t believe her!” was what she said. “She’s hiding something, and we need to find out about it!”

  “You mean about Francy’s death?�
�� I asked.

  “Oh, come on!” Harry cut in with a protest. “You don’t think Mrs. G. killed her, do you, J.?”

  “It crossed my mind!” said Joyce defensively. “We need to investigate to figure out the truth!”

  “You’re right about that, Joyce!” I cut in, while I palmed the pearl I had found on the beach earlier.

  “You can pick up as many of those shiny things as you want, Sheldon,” Joyce warned me, “but that won’t absolve Mrs. Goldenson of her guilt— if she was responsible for what happened!”

  “Mrs. G. couldn’t have done it!” protested Babs. “I mean, what sort of sicko would kill her own daughter?”

  “Don’t talk like that, Babs!” Joyce countered. “We’ve got to figure out what happened. We owe it to her and Francy!”

  “But shouldn’t we leave it to the professionals?” I asked.

  “What professionals?” countered Harry. “It’ll be awhile before the State Police get here to conduct their investigation.”

  “But the newspaper reporters…” I said.

  “We ain’t got a newspaper anymore, Sheldon!” added Babs. “Don’t you remember? The Cove folded ’cause the circulation wasn’t big enough! So we got a clear field if we want it!”

  “Besides, Sheldon,” Joyce said, “Murder’s not cool!”

  Joyce was appealing to the fact that the four of us were desperately trying to stay “cool” among our classmates at Rock Cove Middle School, and this would certainly give us the cachet for that status we needed. That, and the fact that there was determination in their eyes and concern still in mine, meant that they wanted me to say something significant and important. Which I did.

  “All right! Count me in!”

  3.

  Our efforts to begin resolving the circumstances of Francy’s death were put to a temporary stop after we told Mrs. Goldenson and word of the affair got around town and on the Internet. You can’t keep a secret from anybody nowadays! The town got overridden with the media and the cops right after that. The TV stations came up north from Seattle, Spokane and Tacoma; south from Vancouver; and even west from Coeur D’Alene, Idaho. Nothing must go on over there if they have to come over here for their news! Both the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Washington State Police claimed that Rock Cove was in their jurisdiction, and neither would cede their supposed rights to conduct the “official” investigation. It got so bad that they got into a Pier Six brawl out by the shoreline over it. Imagine, the cops causing trouble when they’re supposed to be preventing it! Example #200 in Chairman Sheldon’s guidebook about how people get stupider as they get older!

  The worst part of it was that because Harry, Babs, Joyce and I were the ones who discovered the body, we became what Joyce calls persona non grata. That is, all the kids and even some of the adults were blaming us for helping bring the media circus to town and limiting what little fun we could now have on the boardwalk and in town. This was added to the pressure caused by the cops and the media investigating everything, and the latter crying their eyes out over dear dead Francy like somebody put onions over their eyes when they never knew her from Adam to start with. Jerks! That’s gratitude for you! We never expected any honors or anything for IDing the body, but we also never thought we’d be stuck with the blame for its being in the harbor in the first place.

  You can imagine, therefore, how pleasant the following week was for us. Especially as we tried to plot strategy for looking into the murder while being pelted with irrational insults—among other things!—in the town square.

  “So,” said Joyce. “What do we know already?”

  “That our friends are more foul- than fair-weathered?” I offered.

  “No!” answered Joyce emphatically. “I meant about the murder!” Sometimes she just can’t take a joke.

  “I was just funning!” I answered. “Why do you always have to be so…”

  “Serious?” Joyce finished for me. “I don’t have to be, but for this, I do!”

  She stared at me with her trademark “I am much more intelligent than you are, idiot!” look.

  “Sorry, Joyce,” I said. “But everything dramatic needs some levity, don’t you think?”

  “There’s a time and a place for those things,” she answered crossly, “but now is not one of them! It’s not levity that solves mysteries, it’s brain power, and fortunately I’m full of it!”

  “You certainly are,” I said, which only made her mad at me again.

  It was at that moment, as if the scene was crying out for something to break the emerging tension, that somebody pelted Babs with something that kinda looked like mustard. Naturally, her Irish blood didn’t take to kindly to that.

  “Darn it! ” she cried, leaping to her feet. Fortunately, we were able to restrain her before she did any serious damage. After she had calmed down, Harry had combed a similar spray of mustard out of his hair, and I stopped my panic-stricken heavy breathing, we were able to continue.

  “Okay,” said Joyce. “We know that Francy was found in the ocean, by us, five days ago. What we need to do is figure out how she got there in the first place.”

  “So what is that going to involve?” Harry asked.

  “Well,” Joyce continued, “we’ll need to have a search of the beach and the bluffs around it. My theory is that somebody who was familiar with Francy abducted her, took her down to the beach, killed her, and threw her into the ocean after she was killed.”

  “How thorough are we talking about?” I asked. “Is it going to involve construction of any elaborate thermonuclear weapons, ’cause I can…”

  “One of these days, that wit of yours is going to be the death of you, funny boy!” Joyce said threateningly. I shut up. “Not that extensive, but still pretty thorough. We’re going to examine that beach area piece by piece until we find the evidence we need to break this case open!”

  “You…uh…sure this is how it has to be?” Babs questioned. “Us tearing up the beach like that? Isn’t that…illegal?”

  “Not if we do it at night when nobody’s there, and we make sure we clean it up before the sun rises!” answered Joyce.

  “You got an answer for everything, don’t you?” Harry asked Joyce sarcastically.

  Joyce said one word that confirmed all that we suspected about her and the idea…

  “Yep.”

  4.

  “You’re sure this is how it has to be?” my mother asked me as I went to join the others on the beach.

  “Yes,” I said. “You know how it is with Joyce and her ideas.”

  My mother is, quite—no, make that extremely— protective of me, especially since she and my father divorced. She didn’t think too highly of me playing detective, but she was willing to hear me out, at least. I’ll give her that much for being fair.

  “I just don’t know about you being out so late,” she continued.

  “Look, Mom,” I answered. “If it were up to me, we’d be doing it at a more reasonable hour, for sure. The thing is, Joyce is pretty particular about getting this stuff done right and proper. You remember when we did that school project together and she wouldn’t stop yelling at me if I made even one single mistake…”

  “I understand,” Mom replied. “There are perfectionists everywhere, and I suppose Joyce could be our version of that. Just make sure you’re back by 9 PM, all right?’

  “I can’t entirely promise that,” I said as I got my coat on and zipped it up. “But if I get back within 90% of that time, would you forgive me?”

  “Of course I can,” she answered. “But don’t push it past that.” I nodded assent, said goodbye and left.

  When I finally got down to the beach, carrying my flashlight as well as a pick in case we had to do any serious digging, the rest of my crew was already there. Okay, maybe “crew” isn’t the best word for a group of four, but you try coming up with something better! Joyce came up to me with her own flashlight and, as she always does, took charge and my own concerns became secondary once
again.

  “Sheldon!” Joyce said cheerily upon greeting me. Then she turned on the venom: “You’re late!”

  “Pardon me!” I shot back. “Apparently, not all of us have an overprotective mother! Or a curfew, for that matter!”

  “Never mind that!” she said perfunctorily. “I already did some things, and I was all for proceeding to the next phase, but Harry and Babs wanted to wait for you.”

  “How thoughtful of them!” I said sarcastically.

  Joyce and I proceeded down to the beach, where Harry and Babs were waiting for us. The scene was exactly the same spot where we had discovered Francy’s body a few days earlier, save for the fact that someone, presumably Joyce, had dropped something resembling the size and shape of the body from the jagged cliffs of Rock Cove Bluff nearby in order to simulate what she thought might have happened to Francy. Harry and Babs looked up at me, but there was no time for pleasantries, as Joyce commanded our attention with a grunt.

  “Now,” Joyce said, shining her flashlight in our faces and then out towards the “body” out in the ocean, “do you see that object out there in the water?”

  “What!” interjected Harry. “You don’t think there’s been another murder since the last one, do you?”

  “Could be!” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid, guys!” Joyce said. “There wasn’t another murder. I know why that body’s there.”

  “How come?” Babs interjected. “Did you see who did it?”

  “No, of course not!” Joyce replied.

  “Then why?” I asked accusingly.

  “Because I put it there, you idiots!” Joyce snapped.

  “Whoa!” said Harry. “You killed somebody? I didn’t figure you for that type, J.!”

  “I didn’t kill that thing!” Joyce said after a sigh of exasperation. “But I know three people who are going to be dead at my hands if they don’t shut up and let me explain!”

  We got the message and shut our lips tight while Joyce went forward with her explanation.

  “Francy was floating in the water when we found her and dragged her back on to the beach that day, right?” We nodded. “Well, I have an idea that whoever committed the murder may have disposed of the body by throwing it off Rock Cove Bluff.”