Eden Palms Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  “Detective Burgundy, please drive to Tisdale’s place of business and ask him to accompany you here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Detective Burgundy turned and left.

  Detective Cassidy paced before the semicircle of chairs, eyeing each occupant with his probing gaze.

  “Are you sure we aren’t under arrest?” Courtney squirmed, an action foreign to her usual mannerisms.

  “No, Ms. Lusk. I answered your question earlier. Nobody here’s under arrest. As I told you, this will be an informal meeting, important but informal.”

  “How important?” Courtney demanded.

  How did she have the nerve to question the detective in charge!

  “The meeting’s important both to you and to me. This’s the start of our mysterious death investigation, and I need everyone’s help.”

  I wondered what right Cassidy had to hold us here, but I didn’t blurt my question. Blurting was Courtney’s style, not mine. I hoped she would ask, but she didn’t.

  “If the medical examiner gives me information that someone murdered Francine Shipton, I’ll need facts quickly. If the police have no strong lead on a suspect within twenty-four hours, the investigation can drag on for days, weeks, or months. It could end up as a cold case, unsolved but still open many years from now. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t intend that to happen. Someone in this room may be able to offer clues as to what transpired in this home today.”

  “You believe Mrs. Shipton’s death was murder?” Now Dr. Gravely spoke up. “I think that’s what you’re trying to tell us.”

  “I have an open mind,” Cassidy said. “You people were Francine Shipton’s neighbors and friends. You are the people with whom I’ll start the investigation as to the cause of her death.”

  “What time did she die?” Courtney asked. “I’ve been showing property and making sales calls all day. If I need an alibi, I have one.”

  “If there turns out to be a need for alibis, I’ll be checking on those later,” Cassidy said. “And I won’t release the time of death until I get that information from the medical examiner—probably later tonight or early tomorrow.”

  The telephone rang and nobody spoke.

  “It’s your home, Zack. Answer the phone, please, but be aware that we’re recording all conversations.”

  Was that legal? I wondered. But I guessed it was or the police wouldn’t be doing it. I cocked my head, trying to overhear Zack’s telephone conversation. Impossible. He kept his voice whisper low. When he returned to the room, his expression revealed nothing.

  “The call’s for you, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Detective Cassidy nodded and I wondered if his face would crack if he risked a smile. He walked to the kitchen. He didn’t stroll. He didn’t hurry. He moved like a man used to having others wait for him. When he returned to the solarium his words did little to relieve our curiosity.

  “Detective Burgundy’s returning to join us.” He looked at Zack. “We’ll need two more chairs, please.”

  Zack brought in more chairs, placing them next to Courtney’s, and a few minutes later all heads turned when Detective Burgundy entered the solarium urging Tucker Tisdale and Mitch ahead of him.

  My heart pounded. Where had Detective Burgundy found Mitch? What had my brother been doing since he left my cottage? Where had he been?

  “Gentlemen.” Detective Cassidy eyed Mitch and Tucker Tisdale as if they had broken some law and were up for reprimand. “Please be seated.” He nodded toward the empty chairs. “I’m sure Detective Burgundy told you why we’re here and why you’ve been asked to join us.”

  Tisdale and Mitch both nodded. Tisdale pulled his shirt sleeves low onto his wrists. Mitch looked straight ahead.

  “Young man,” Detective Cassidy said, peering at Mitch, “since you don’t live in this neighborhood, I’ll begin my questions with you and then you’ll be free to leave.”

  Be careful, Mitch. Be careful. My mind shouted the warning, yet I knew Mitch had experience in handling himself around police investigators. But this situation was different. This time Mitch might be on the other side of the law. If Detective Cassidy delved too deeply into Mitch’s past he might discover Chet Green from Iowa. I thought of no way I could help my brother now. I could only hope the Federal Witness Protection Program would keep him safe.

  “I’m going to ask each of you to answer my questions. I’ll be taking notes for future reference.” Cassidy looked directly at Mitch. “Young man, your name please.”

  “Mitch Mitchell.”

  “Your address, please.”

  Mitch supplied the address of his Caroline Street apartment.

  “What brought you to this neighborhood tonight?”

  “Curiosity, sir. I work for, worked for, Mrs. Shipton and Ms. Lusk. Mowed their lawns. Sometimes I helped Mrs. Shipton with heavy lifting. Now and then she asked me to change the position of the plants in this room. Tonight, when I heard sirens and saw emergency vehicles heading this way, curiosity got to me. I followed them on my bike.”

  “What was your reaction when you learned Mrs. Shipton was dead?” Cassidy avoided mentioning or suggesting that Francine had been murdered.

  “The news shocked me. Surprised me.” Mitch looked at the floor and his face flushed. “And to be frank, I felt sorry to know I’d lost a good customer.”

  “Do you know the rest of the people in this room?”

  “Yes, sir. At least I know who they are—their names and where they live.”

  “Miss Green only arrived here tonight. You’re acquainted with her, too?”

  I held my breath, but Mitch looked directly at me as he answered.

  “I know Bailey Green by hearing Mrs. Shipton mention her. She felt excited at having a famous jazz person to work for her and live in the guest cottage.”

  “Famous?” Cassidy asked.

  “At least sort of famous,” Mitch said. “She’s a singer and a little bit famous. I mean, she’s cut a record that’s for sale in Key West. At least that’s what Mrs. Shipton told me.”

  “When did you last work for Mrs. Shipton?”

  “This morning, sir.”

  “What duties did you perform?”

  “I mowed the grass, weeded around the hibiscus bushes and plucked off the withered blossoms. She wanted everything to look neat for the evening meeting she planned.”

  “Was that all you did?”

  Mitch hesitated, and again I held my breath, afraid of what he might say next.

  “No that wasn’t all. Mrs. Shipton told me she’d seen a snake in the solarium this morning. She asked me to come inside, look for it, and get rid of it if I found it.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yes, sir. It lay almost hidden under the leaves of that elephant ear plant.” Mitch pointed, and we all looked at the plant and the ornamental fountain beside it as if the snake might still be there. “The creature must have slithered inside unnoticed when the door opened. That sort of thing happens sometimes. It’s no reflection on Mrs. Shipton’s housekeeping. None at all. This’s a good room for snakes, sir. I mean…” Mitch hesitated. “I mean the warm dampness inside the room, the sunshine filtering through outdoor plantings and flickering through the windows… The room offers the sort of protected environment snakes enjoy.”

  “What kind of a snake was it?”

  “A blacksnake, sir. About four feet long. Big but harmless. I’m not surprised that seeing a snake in her solarium startled Mrs. Shipton.”

  “How do you happen to know so much about snakes?”

  “I’ve read about them. I like all sorts of critters, and I wish more people realized snakes are their friends.”

  “Do you see snakes around here frequently?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Only now and then. I sometimes see them around that koi pond up the street. I don’t bother them.”

  “What did you do with the snake you found in this solarium?”

  “I asked Mrs. Shipton for an old towel. I wrapped the sna
ke in the towel, and then I put it in my bicycle basket and took it to the brushy area around the old salt ponds near the airport. I turned it loose there where it wouldn’t hurt anyone and where nobody would hurt it.”

  I breathed easier when Cassidy abandoned the subject of snakes, and I thought Mitch had handled the questions well. As a kid he had loved snakes and frogs and newts—any creature that lived in the outdoors. Both Mom and I had shrieked and cringed when we found a toad or a handful of grasshoppers in his pants pockets on wash day.

  “When was the last time you saw Mrs. Shipton alive?”

  “This morning, sir, when I removed the snake from the solarium and took it away.”

  “Detective Burgundy says he saw you loitering behind the cottage next door. What reason did you have for being there?”

  “When I arrived here earlier in the evening, I parked my bicycle there because it’s the spot Mrs. Shipton suggested I use during my working hours. Tonight it seemed like a safe place. There are seldom many cars in this cul-de-sac, but tonight there were lots of vehicles moving about. I didn’t want my bike to be in the way, and I didn’t want some car to smash it.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mitch Mitchell,” Cassidy said. “We may have more questions for you later in the week. You’re free to go now, but don’t leave Key West without my permission. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mitch rose and left the room. My heart and my fears went with him. Earlier, I’d seen him skulking around Courtney’s home, and Detective Burgundy had seen him behind my cottage. What had Mitch been up to tonight? Plunking oneself in the middle of a police investigation didn’t match my definition of keeping a low profile.

  I shuddered. Surely I wasn’t suspecting my own brother of Francine’s death.

  SEVEN

  All eyes followed Mitch from the solarium and watched through the window while Detective Burgundy motioned him into a patrol car, stowed his bicycle in the trunk, and drove away. The group snapped to attention when Detective Cassidy cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Shipton, since you’re the owner of this property, I’ll resume my questioning with you. Your relation to the deceased, please?”

  “Francine Shipton was my mother.”

  “Your occupation, Mr. Shipton?”

  “I’m president of Shipton Boatyard and Salvage Company.”

  Cassidy’s ballpoint refused to write. He discarded it and pulled another from his pocket. After testing it, he jotted Zack’s reply in his notebook as if he hadn’t already known the answers before he asked.

  “Where’s your place of business located, Mr. Shipton?”

  “The main location’s on Stock Island where I maintain a business office and an active construction operation. I also moor salvage boats at my Stock Island dock so I’ll be ready to answer distress calls from boaters in trouble. Salvaging’s a necessary service in the Keys.”

  “Yes,” Detective Cassidy said. “Our department has called on you for help from time to time. You have offices other than the Stock Island location, right?”

  “Yes. I have a boatyard on Marathon, and I’m expanding, building a third one on Key Largo.”

  “Do you visit your places of business on a daily basis?”

  “I try to, but not always. It’s a long drive to Key Largo. I go there only when necessary. I’ve hired a manager on Largo who’s capable of overseeing the new construction.”

  “Where did you work today?”

  “I stopped briefly at Stock Island this morning before spending the afternoon at my Marathon office.”

  “About fifty miles from here?”

  “Right.”

  “I understand that your mother had scheduled a meeting of friends, near neighbors, and not-so-near neighbors at Eden Palms tonight. An eight-thirty gathering, I believe.”

  “Right.”

  “Did you plan to attend that meeting?”

  “Yes. The meeting concerned ideas for remodeling and reconstruction here at my home. I wanted to be present.”

  “What time did you leave your Marathon office?”

  “About five o’clock.”

  “Did you drive directly to Key West?”

  “No. Business matters interfered. I stopped at Toppinos on Rockland Key to discuss renting a crane. May have spent an hour there. Got home a little after seven. You and your people were here when I arrived. But you know that.”

  I wondered if this was Zack’s alibi for his whereabouts at the time Francine died. I hoped he had an unshakable alibi—for my own sake as well as for his. I’d never sleep well knowing a killer might be living next door. I felt trapped. I guessed Detective Cassidy planned to give us all the same order he gave Mitch—don’t leave Key West without his permission.

  “When did you last see your mother alive, Mr. Shipton?”

  “Rather late last night. I live here on the first floor. Mother lived in a second-floor suite. Those were her wishes.”

  “She didn’t mind using the stairs?”

  “No. I never heard her complain about climbing up or down the steps. She recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday in good health. She preferred living upstairs. She felt it gave her more privacy—especially at night. Key West has an unsavory reputation for crime in the nighttime.”

  If Detective Cassidy considered Zack’s explanation of their living arrangement a slur directed at the police department, he ignored it.

  “Getting back to my question, when did you last see your mother alive?”

  “She came downstairs to tell me goodnight around ten o’clock last night. We told each other our plans for today, and then she went back upstairs and to bed.”

  “So nothing unusual happened yesterday evening.”

  “Nothing that I know of.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual around your home or your yard this morning before you left for work?”

  “Nothing, sir. Everything looked okay to me. I left for work as usual and then returned much later to find—”

  “What was your relationship with your mother, Mr. Shipton? Did the two of you get along well?”

  “Yes. We got along fine.” Zack snapped the words, exasperation creeping into his tone.

  “You never had any arguments?”

  “No.”

  Detective Cassidy gave a sardonic smile that never reached his eyes. “How lucky you were, Mr. Shipton. Few people living in close proximity can boast of such a placid relationship.”

  Zack’s face flushed, and I thought he should have had a lawyer at hand to protect his rights. Before he could respond to Detective Cassidy’s barb about mother-son relationships, a car stopped out front. Footsteps scraped on the steps, then Detective Burgundy entered the solarium.

  “Please be seated.” Detective Cassidy nodded toward the empty chair Mitch had vacated, barely taking his gaze from Zack. I thought he’d ask more about Zack’s relationship with Francine, and his next question surprised me.

  “What are your hobbies, Mr. Shipton? How do you occupy yourself in your spare time? What activities do you enjoy spending money on?”

  Good question. I like to read, and I know I learn a great deal about a story character by the hobbies that character pursues or would never dream of pursuing. I waited, eager to hear Zack’s reply.

  The flush of anger left by Cassidy’s previous question drained from Zack’s face, leaving it ashen again.

  “I like to sail. I’m building a sailboat for my own personal use. I like to fish. I spend time reading—especially about the sea. Also, I’m an amateur artist. Caricatures. Sometimes Mother auctioned my sketches at benefits, using the money for some cause that interested her. A few of her favorites hang in our rental cottage.”

  “Miss Green’s temporary home?”

  Did I imagine it or did he emphasize the word “temporary”? “Yes. Miss Green has arrived to take up residence on the Eden Palms estate.”

  In the next instant, Detective Cassidy focused directly on me. “Miss Green, how l
ong have you lived at the Shipton cottage?”

  I felt like a germ under a microscope. Since I’d arrived after Francine’s death had taken place, it surprised me that Cassidy wanted to question me. Had someone hinted that I might have killed Francine? I struggled to keep my voice pleasant.

  “I arrived only this evening. Francine Shipton had offered me a job as her secretary and aide. Housing in her cottage was to be a part of my payment.”

  “What time did you arrive, Miss Green?”

  “My plane landed around seven-thirty. Due to traffic gridlock I didn’t reach the cottage until almost nine o’ clock.”

  “Can you explain the lag time between the plane landing and your arrival on the Shipton premises?”

  I could and I did, skipping the parts concerning my interview with Quinn Bahama and my encounter with the intrusive vendor. My account must have been enough to satisfy Detective Cassidy. His gaze returned to Zack.

  “Had you noticed any unusual activity around your house in the few days preceding your mother’s death?”

  Zack sat silent a while before he answered. “I can think of nothing unusual that happened here lately. Nothing.”

  Again, Cassidy looked at me. “Miss Green, since you have arrived to live on Shipton property, I’ll continue my questions with you. What was your relationship to Francine Shipton?”

  I answered his questions as completely, but as briefly, as possible, unwilling to reveal too much—or too little. The only information I withheld that might pertain to the investigation concerned Francine’s note in my purse. It was a no-ask, no-tell situation. If he asked about our correspondence in the future, I’d have to reveal the note. But not now. As I’d expected, Detective Cassidy ordered me to get his permission before leaving Key West.

  I had no choice but to remain. The cottage was now my residence unless Zack asked me to leave. Perhaps he could find part-time work for me in the Shipton business. I had no home to return to in Iowa, and even if I could find another rental in Key West, I couldn’t afford to leave the Shipton cottage unless I found a full-time day job and worked on writing lyrics at night.

  I hoped to avoid that. I wanted to give songwriting and performing my best shot, and I couldn’t do that and worry about the responsibilities a full-time day job would bring. It unnerved me to realize an unknown murderer might be at large in Key West, but I saw nothing I could do about that. I promised myself to be strong and unafraid. Well, at least I’d admit no fear to anyone.