Chapter 3
The briny air swirled, and mists of saltwater sprayed against the bow as we headed out toward Starlight Key aboard the sheriff's patrol boat.
Brenda and her crew, along with the forensic guys, Phil and Bob, rode with us. Dietrich fiddled with his camera.
"They say she's some kind of online E girl," the sheriff shouted over the howl of the engines. "I figure you two might know her."
"What's her name?" I asked.
“Eden Saint. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that's not her real name.”
Jack looked up her profile online. His brow lifted with surprise. "I've seen her before. Not that I’m a subscriber, or anything. I’ve just seen her all over the socials.”
The sheriff shot him a doubtful look.
“She’s the one who…” He stopped himself.
“Who what?”
“Well, I don’t want to be indelicate at a time like this.”
The sheriff rolled his eyes.
"Who found the body?" I asked.
"One of her friends. Lacey Doll.”
I shared a look with JD.
"No shit?"
"You know her, too?" the sheriff asked.
"Not personally. But I've seen a few pictures." Jack made an expression that told me she was easy on the eyes.
The sheriff just shook his head. "If I find out there's a conflict of interest in this case, I'm pulling you both off it.”
"No conflict of interest," JD said with a smile.
Eden’s sailboat was anchored off the small key in the bay. Clear water, beautiful white sand beaches—a little oasis. Not a bad place to anchor out for a few days and create content. The scenery was picturesque. The secluded key didn't see a lot of traffic.
The sheriff pulled alongside the 42-foot sailboat. The Saints & Sinners was a work of art. Sleek lines, a dual helm station, a teak deck, a hardtop with built-in solar, stainless bow rails, and all the gadgets. It looked brand new. With the kind of money Eden was making online, she could afford it.
Lacey Doll waited for us in a 25-foot wake boat, anchored nearby. She had the tight body of a gymnast. The kind of curves you could bounce a quarter off and get back change. With flowing blonde hair and caramel eyes, she was an effortless beauty.
I don't think she wanted to stay aboard the sailboat with a dead body.
I shouted across the gunwale to her. "Are you Lacey?”
She nodded.
I introduced myself and told her I needed to ask her some questions after we did our initial evaluation.
The sheriff and I boarded Eden’s boat along with the rest of the team. We let the forensic guys take first crack at it. Dietrich snapped photos. Camera flashes bounced off the bulkheads. The team chronicled evidence.
Brenda snapped on a pair of pink nitrile gloves and prepared to go to work.
Eden had been a gorgeous redhead with fair skin, a light dusting of freckles, emerald eyes, and a body that inspired legions of online fans.
She lay slumped at the settee across from the galley, a thin laptop open on the table in front of her. Crimson painted the bulkhead, along with bits of brain and bone. The bullet had entered her right temple and blasted out the other side of her skull. Flies buzzed about her pale skin.
It wasn't exactly hot this time of year, but she’d been here long enough to put a hint of death in the air. If I had to guess, I’d put it at 12 to 14 hours.
A glassine baggy lay on the table next to the laptop. Most likely heroin. We’d find out soon enough.
A black 9mm pistol lay on the settee next to her lifeless hand. An empty shell casing rolled around on the deck as the boat pitched and rolled with the swells.
Once Dietrich had taken all his photos, Brenda went to work.
The interior of the boat was as sleek and modern as the exterior—clean lines, expensive furnishings and appliances, elegant appointments. This was a million-dollar boat.
"Time of death?" I asked.
"I'd say between 5:00 and 7:00 PM yesterday evening," Brenda replied.
Phil slipped a $20 bill to Bob, having clearly lost the bet on the time of death.
"Now why would a beautiful young girl like Eden go and do something stupid like this?" the sheriff muttered.
"I don't think she did," Brenda said.