The compromise seemed to satisfy his conscience. He took a second pad and a pencil, and placed them on the small table next to the chair. He grabbed the remote, stretched out his legs to on ottoman, and flicked on the TV. The Rays were running out to the field.
“Go Rays,” he said.
The Yankees had fielded a strong team, and many experts had picked them to win the American League pennant this year, and to win the World Series. However, as strong as the Yanks were, the team was rated only a shade above the Red Sox and Rays. Other baseball pundits predicted the Minnesota Twins would be in the hunt this year, due to the pitching duo of Madison and Johnson, two fast-ball pitchers, who could also make their curves and sliders do triple-axles before heading over the plate; and due to the team’s two sluggers, Adamway and Hilderbran, who both had hit around .320 the previous season. What made Orlando smile was, the Yanks had been hit with a slew of injuries this year. Four of the starters were out, and two of their best pitchers had been sidelined. Orlando didn’t wish any player ill. He hoped that all of the sidelined players would make a complete recovery….after the season was over.
He watched as Hugh Carr, the Rays pitcher, threw the first pitch. It zoomed toward the plate and smacked loudly into the catcher’s glove. The umpire’s hand shot up.
“Strike one!” he yelled.
The second was a strike, too, although the Yankee hitter made what was a pathetic attempt to hit it.
As the Yankee batter stepped back, Orlando was thinking either Adele Richardson or Jack Richardson could provide information about Bayridge and the insurance policies. Although he recalled Adele saying she thought the Bayridges had a solid marriage. But she didn’t realize it seemed to be more of a marriage of convenience.
“Strike three!” the umpire yelled. The batter walked back to the dugout, without having touched the ball with his bat.
The Yankee batter now stood at the plate and took a practice swing. Murdock was his name, and Orlando knew he was a good hitter. He was also a skilled bunter. While the Yanks were a team known for their power, if the leadoff hitter got on base, the manager might tell Murdock to bunt, so the runner could get into scoring position. This time, though, that option wasn’t open to him
Murdock fouled the first pitch off. The Rays pitcher was in fine form. Had he even thrown a ball yet? Orlando wondered.
And what was the name of that developer, the one who lost the condo and hotel because of Lyndon Richardson. The name had slipped his mind, but it was in his notes.
Murdock knocked the ball one hop, to the shortstop, who grabbed it from his glove and threw the runner out with room to spare.
“Why don’t I just call Jack Richardson? He might know details about Bayridge,” Orlando said, as the third batter stepped up to the plate.
He reached for his smart phone, but kept it in his hand while he watched the pitcher stare at the catcher for the sign. The pitcher nodded, but the curve ball didn’t bite as much as he’d hoped. The pitcher wanted it on the outside of the plate, just off the corner, but it caught too much of the plate. There was a hard smack as the batter clubbed it. But the batter was a bit off, too. He didn’t get quite enough of the ball. It soared toward centerfield and brought some anxious murmurs from the crowd. The centerfielder retreated to the warning track and waiting patiently. He raised his glove and let the ball drop into it. He smiled and tossed it back toward the infield, then trotted to the dugout.
“Good job,” Orlando yelled at the Rays pitcher. “Now, if you can do that for eight more innings, we’re home free.”
Jack Richardson gave a friendly hello and asked Orlando how the case was going.
“I’m optimistic, Jack. I can’t give you any guarantees yet, but I am optimistic. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Do you know anything about Allan Bayridge, and his wife?”
Orlando couldn’t see his client, but he had a feeling Richardson was staring at the phone with a puzzled look.
“Allan and Sylvi? Allan was friends with our family for decades. We know Sylvi pretty well, too.”
“Jack, I know we thought your father was the target of the car, that night when he was killed. But I was wondering if, maybe, that was a mistake. Don’t get me wrong. I still think it was your father who was targeted, but one or two things got me wondering if maybe Bayridge was the target. If someone wanted to kill him, the best place would have been on the walk. Everybody, including all the police investigators, would think your father was the target.”
There was a silence on the other end of the line. When Richardson finally spoke, his voice was somber.
“You know, that’s the first time I ever considered that. I guess I was so close to the crime, I always thought – I always knew – one of Dad’s enemies killed him. But…I’m not sure.”
“As I said, I haven’t changed my mind about the case, but I wanted to check out every possibility. Do you know anything about the marriage?’”
“Not a great deal. It was the second marriage for both. They always seemed to like one another.”
“Like is not love. Did they love one another?”
There was another long pause from Richardson. “I was no bosom buddy with Allan. He was closer to Dad than me. I’m not sure I can comment on their marriage, or whether they loved one another.”
“No, go ahead. Take a wild guess, Jack.”
Orlando looked toward the television. The Yankees had not scored in the top of the first, and the Rays had one out, but also had a man on second base. As Orlando watched, the Rays batter hammered a fast ball into left field. The Rays runner sprinted down the baseline, stopped on third based and sped home. The Yankee outfielder chased the ball down and threw it in, but he wasn’t quick enough to nail the Rays runner, who clapped his hands as he stepped on home plate. Orlando smiled and silently raised his fist in the air.
“Jack, you still there?” He asked.
“Yes. Allan Bayridge was a friend of my father’s and a friend of mine. He was one of our political allies and he always supported my father. We both appreciated how he helped us. But…I think…but Allan was sort of an emotionally paralyzed man. I mean, I don’t think he loved anybody. There was no emotional outreach with him.”
“I see. What about Sylvi?”
“I think she loved people too well, or at least men too well. Not that it bothered Allan. I think he knew Sylvi had an occasional discreet affair, and it didn’t bother him.”
“If I may ask, how rich was he? And did all of his fortune go to his wife when he died?”
“I don’t know the details of that. Although I’m not sure about this, I think they had a pre-nup. I could be wrong but—”
“How much was your friend worth, Jack?”
“Allan had investments in a number of businesses in the city and the county. He was a shrewd investor. I think he had substantial amounts of money in a number of companies. He was quick to jump on tech stocks, but he also was comfortable in real estate and oil.”
“Do you know anything about his insurance? Did his life insurance policy name his wife as beneficiary?”
“That I don’t know.” Richardson paused. “Is this line of questioning serious? When that crime happened, no one thought Bayridge was the target. Do you have any evidence, or are you just shooting in the dark?”
“Jack, to be honest, I saw an evening shadow and I’m shooting in the dark. But it’s something I want to nail down, just in case. I can’t get it out of my mind, that maybe a very shrewd murderer knew if he killed the walkers on that long-ago night, no one would dream he was aiming for Bayridge, and not your father.”
Richardson paused again, a very long pause. His voice had a dry, weak tone. “Weeks and months before the hit-and-run, there was a great deal of publicity about the city government, and what it was doing, on a 3-2 vote. My father was in the news a great deal before he was killed.”
“Making it even more likely that a shrewd murderer might take a chance. Do you know anything about Bayridge’s businesses back then?”
“No, I can give you the name of his son, Tagger. He lives on the beach with his wife. He has three children now. He still visits his father’s grave on the date when Allan was killed. He would certainly share any information he had with you. I don’t think Tagger liked his step-mother…”
Orlando thought Richardson was going to say more, but the words faded and Richardson stopped talking.
Orlando didn’t say anything, either. A Yankee batter had hit a curve to right field, bringing in two Yankee runners. The batter ran to second, and the score was 4-3 Rays. Aaron Judge was coming to the plate, which was not good news. He was one of the finest sluggers in the league. As the Rays pitcher slipped a slider over the corner of the plate, Richardson picked up the conversation.
“I may be able to help you with one item, Orlando.”
“Great. I could use anything.”
On the next pitch Judge swung and, if he had connected, the ball would have landed in Jacksonville. Two strikes.
“Allan and I did have the same insurance company, Riebeck Insurance Agency. John Riebeck is on old-timer, and we’ve known him for decades. He’s going to retire later this year, but as of now, he’s still running the agency. He was also a good friend of my father’s, so I know he will help you.”
Judge swung again, but the curve dipped below his knees. Orlando breathed a sigh of relief.
“Orlando?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Thank you, Jack. I’ll follow up on that lead tomorrow. I’ll see what he can tell me.”
“I will call him first thing in the morning, and tell him you’re a man who can be trusted.”
“Thanks, again. I’ll get back to you, Jack.”
“Do you have any other suspects?”
“One or two. Suspects are easy. It’s the proof I’m having problems with.”
He turned back to the baseball game. The Rays left fielder reared back and threw a strike to the third baseman, who tagged a Yankee runner who had zoomed past second and tried to make third. The left fielder had hit the extremely small target, the third baseman’s mitt, and the runner was tagged out. Orlando smiled. It was the 7th inning, and the Rays’ lead of 4-3 was holding. But the Yankees were dangerous. The team had any number of home run hitters, and two innings left.
He eased back into the chair. The room had a coffee pot, and after three minutes, he mastered how to make coffee and had the pot brewing. He’d spend a few hours watching the game, and then study his notes. So, he needed coffee. He glanced at the baseball game again. He’d feel a lot better while studying the notes if the Rays won the game.
“Go, Tampa Bay,” he said, raising a fist.
###
Orlando has slipped on a dark blue tie to go with his light blue shirt, but had not put his coat on yet, when he heard a knock on the door. He wondered who knew he was in the La Quinta. He walked to it, turned the knob and opened it, and was stunned. A smiling Emily beamed at him from the hall.
“Emily! What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d come down and say hello. Would you like to get some breakfast?”
He was so delighted to see her, that he opened his arms and gave her a quick hug. She hugged back.
“Come in, come in,” he said.
She wore a bright orange blouse and green blue slacks. He noticed both the blouse and the slacks fit smugly.
“Beautiful view, Boss.
She stared through the screen doors to the ocean. White crests rolled across the green waves. Being a Floridian, she knew the ocean can often change colors. Although the choices were limited, at times the water will look different shades of blue, but at times the waves reflect a green color. No reds or oranges though.
“You want to have breakfast on the balcony?” Orlando asked.
“Yes, that would be wonderful.”
“There’s a menu on the table. Tell me what you want and I will order.”
Ten minutes later they sat on the balcony, as beach breezes blew around them. Orlando picked up the salt shaker that was in the shape of a lifeguard tower, and sprinkled salt on his scrambled eggs. Emily sipped her orange juice and bit into a bacon strip.
“So, did you get any of the hacking done?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
Her voice was merry. Even so, Orlando showed her a scowl.
“And why not?”
“I’m being naughty. Can you handle a naughty girl?”
He changed his scowl into a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you naughty before. I think I like this part of your personality, if it doesn’t go on too long.”
She giggled. “Actually, why I’m saying that is, I don’t want to talk shop at breakfast. Let’s leave the case behind for a few hours. This is such a beautiful view, let’s just look at the ocean.”
She forked some of her scrambled eggs and brought them to her mouth. “Looking at the beach, I wouldn’t mind running out and sunning myself for an hour or so.”
“You can. Change, go sun and then come back to the room.”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes, and this isn’t a nude beach.”
What a pity, Orlando thought.
“When did you think of doing this? It had to be a spur of the moment thing?”
“It was. Boss, I don’t think you are a spur of the moment guy, but sometimes I’m a spur of the moment girl. I woke up and decided to drive down here and surprise you. It’s only about an hour’s drive from Winchester Beach.”
“How did you know I wouldn’t have already had breakfast, and be off to talk to someone.”
“Boss, you have often said you are not a morning person. So, I didn’t see you getting up at eight, eating a quick breakfast and leaving. I figured you wouldn’t get up until at least nine .”
“You were right,” Orlando said. “I think you know more about me than I know about you.”
She smiled. “Probably a good thing, for a girl to be a little mysterious.”
“A little mysterious and a little naughty. A good combination.”
“Yes, it is. It brought me to your room to have this wonderful breakfast.” She cast a glance toward the waves again. The sun’s rays bounced off the sparkling water and sent orange beams of light at her.
“You know, looking at the beach reminds me I haven’t had a vacation for a while.” she said.
“Guess I haven’t given you one. I’ll correct that. After this case, we can both take one.”
“But we don’t know how long this case will take. May I remind you that some other fine investigators have not solved this case. In twenty-five years, no one has solved this case.”
“But I am a combination of Sherlock Holmes and Travis McGee. They always solved their cases.”
“Travis McGee?”
“A fictional private detective. Very good at his job.”
“Better than Mike Hammer?”
“More literate than Hammer. But if you’re in a fight, you want both McGee and Hammer on your side.”
She waved her arms. “No. That’s almost about the case, so it’s off limits.” She looked at the beach again. “I almost had the most embarrassing moment of my life on a beach.”
“Really? What happened?”
She took another bite of bacon. “A couple of years ago, a boyfriend and I had a beach outing. We walked down the beach and strolled along a path. There was a section where trees and brush bordered the sand. So, we roamed through the trees. He had injured his leg about six weeks before, but he said it was completely healed. Being flaky, I told him he needed more rest time, and that I could outrun him. He said nonsense. I think we must have been a half a mile inland, so we bet on who could reach the waves first. I took off. I’m a good runner. He was right behind me. It w
as heavy brush, and I had to run through some of it. I had on a thin bikini, and the bottom was tied with a string. I had tied a lousy knot that came loose. I was running so fast that I didn’t notice the string had untied when I ran through the bush, and was now hanging on that bush, as I sped toward the shore. The boyfriend was shouting at me, but I ignored him. I figured he was just trying to slow me down, so he could win the race. Finally, he bellowed at the top of his lungs, “You don’t have pants on!” That brought me to a halt. I looked down and discovered he was right. I yelled and picked some ferns that were wide enough to cover the vital places. I was just about ten seconds from sprinting through the trees and running toward the water. Someone probably would have taken a picture. My beach incident would have been on Facebook and Twitter.”
Orlando laughed so hard he spit some of the coffee he had just sipped.
“My boyfriend ran up with the bottoms and I quickly got them on,” Emily said. “It was a memorable trip.”
“I believe it,” Orlando said, still chuckling. “How many memorable trips have you had?”
“More than one, less than ten.” She scooped up her yellow napkin and wiped her mouth. “You know that old saying, always leave them laughing. You’re laughing, so I should leave. I have an appointment later this morning.”
“With who?”
“A detective in the Winchester Beach Police Department. Please don’t ask me why. We still have that ban. No shop talk.”
“Well, even if I asked, you’d be naughty and not tell me.”
This time Emily laughed. She pressed a finger to his lips. “That’s right, so there’s no reason to ask. I’ll see you later.”
He walked her to the door and opened it. She kissed his cheek.
“Talk to you later, Boss. We both have work to do,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily knocked on the Winchester Beach detective’s door at two minutes past ten. She turned the knob when a drowsy voice yelled to come in. When she did, a slim man with an angular, elongated face, and dressed in a green suit and tie, almost grinned at her, while seated behind his oak wood desk.
Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set Page 21
