When we reached the cottage, Burgundy walked me to the door and saw me safely inside. I flopped down onto my bed feeling a need to relax. I’d dropped off to sleep when the telephone rang, and I sat up, too startled for a moment to pick up the receiver. I lifted it on the third ring.
“Bailey speaking.”
“It’s Zack. Been trying to get you for a while, but…”
He hesitated, but when I didn’t offer to tell him where I’d been, he continued.
“I’ve invited the near neighbors in for a snack, Bailey. There’s an overflow of food here and I’ve no family to help me eat it. Anyway, everyone I’ve invited is a suspect in this murder case. Did you hear the announcement on the five o’clock news?”
“No. Oh, Zack! The police have announced the whole story?”
“Most of it. But nothing about the snake. That’s still hush-hush.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“We need to get together—all of us. We need to discuss our various situations before the police haul us in individually for formal questioning. Will you come over? Courtney’s already here helping me organize an informal buffet.”
“Sure, Zack. I’ll be over as soon as I freshen up.” For some reason I didn’t want to tell him I’d already been in for questioning. Nor was I eager for another meeting with Miss Perfection in Prada.
FOURTEEN
After a quick shower, I searched my closet for something to wear. It irritated me to think I might let Courtney influence my decision. She’d be dressed to—I avoided the word “kill”—to attract attention—especially from Zack. So what. I refused to enter a costume competition. She might need a man to make her life meaningful, but not I. Yet, if she planned to use Francine’s death to point out a hole in Zack’s life and perhaps to entice him into marriage, that might concern me—a lot. Her first act as the new Mrs. Shipton might be to demand that I find another place to live.
Don’t go there! I shoved that concern to the back of my mind. If necessary, I could find another apartment. Maybe. I slipped into a green tee, white capris, and Kino thongs before I ran a comb through my hair. After adding a gloss of coral-toned lipstick, I felt nervous and wary but determined to face whatever lay ahead. I locked the cottage and dropped the key into my purse. On second thought, I retrieved it and tucked it into a pocket of my capris.
Tucker Tisdale’s cream-colored Cadillac sat at the curb in front of Eden Palms. The other guests must have walked. Maybe Tucker felt he might need to make a quick exit. Funeral directors could be summoned on the spur of the moment. And so could doctors. I didn’t see Dr. Gravely’s Lexus, but I squinted as the sun flashed against the silver of Courtney’s BMW in her carport.
Zack met me at his door.
“Come in, Bailey, and have a chair.” He eased me toward the living room. Dr. Gravely and Tucker Tisdale sat at opposite ends of a leather sofa, and Zack had pulled armchairs into a semicircle for the rest of us. “We’ve decided to meet in here and enjoy a few snacks. Nobody felt in the mood for a formal meal. I doubt if anyone has much of an appetite.”
“You hear the news?” Dr. Gravely shot the question at me, almost interrupting Zack’s welcome. “Homicide.” His piercing gaze probed my eyes.
I nodded, careful to keep the source of my news to myself. “Tragic,” I muttered. “Unthinkable.” The others murmured in agreement.
My feet sank into plush carpeting as I faced Gravely and Tisdale. I didn’t see Mitch, and that didn’t surprise me. Although he’d been present last night, he wasn’t one of the near neighbors. I hoped he wouldn’t be involved in a homicide investigation.
“Hello, Bailey.” Courtney called from the kitchen doorway, where she stood holding a pitcher of iced tea. “Glad you could join us.”
I murmured a greeting to Courtney and to the others and tried to ignore Courtney’s outfit. But nobody could ignore Courtney for long, especially not this evening when she undulated between kitchen and dining room, carrying snack trays and glasses. Her lemon-colored sarong flowed from her slim neck to her ankles. The long auburn hair she usually wore in a sophisticated French braid or an upsweep now fell around her shoulders and onto her back. Eleanor Roosevelt once said another person couldn’t undermine your poise unless you allowed it. I wasn’t about to allow it.
“I’ve arranged snacks in the dining room,” Courtney called to everyone, very much at home as Zack’s hostess. “Do come along and help yourselves. We can talk later.”
Zack arranged a TV table beside my chair, and then the others let me lead the way into the dining room. Portraits of Shipton ancestors peered at us from ornate gold frames. In the center of the teakwood dining table, Courtney had floated a yellow hibiscus in a Waterford bowl. Around it she’d arranged salvers of crackers along with shallow bowls of plantain chips, and, in close proximity, crystal bowls of crab dip, guacamole, and smoked oysters. Only Courtney would dare use Fran-cine’s palm-print paper plates and napkins on the same table with Waterford and make the combination seem a perfect choice.
“Shrimp scampi. Calamari. Grouper fingers.” Courtney roll-called other delicacies, but I had no appetite. I took a small helping of curried chicken to be polite.
Courtney’s bright chatter about the menu didn’t call up huge appetites from anyone. When we sat again in the living room, we picked at our food. I couldn’t think about eating while sitting so near the spot where Francine had died. Zack tried to make casual conversation.
“Bailey, I saw a dozen copies of your CD this afternoon. Front window at Island Book Store. The owner had surrounded it with books on music and composers. Stuck my head in the doorway long enough to tell him he’d made a great window display. Francine must have made arrangements for it.”
Zack avoided mentioning the title, Greentree Blues.
“You’ve listened to the recording?” Dr. Gravely asked.
“Certainly,” Zack replied. “Mother owned one of the first CDs available after its release. It’s there on the coffee table if anyone wants to borrow it. You had a chance to hear it, Tucker?”
Everyone glanced at the coffee table and the CD with my picture alongside a likeness of a graceful palm tree bending in the breeze.
“Don’t have much time for listening.” Tucker smiled apologetically and tugged at his shirt sleeves. “But my wife said she listened to it the same day it came out. Said it was her kind of song.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “That’s good to hear.”
“What about you, Courtney?” Gravely said. “I know you’re a music lover. You listened to Greentree Blues?”
Courtney nodded a yes. “Francine gave me one of the first copies available. I still listen to it now and then.”
So. Francine had asked Zack to buy my CD for her to give to Courtney. It bothered me that it made a difference to me. As we continued to pick at our food, the conversation grew more fragmented.
“Lovely decorations in this room.” Tucker Tisdale broke an uncomfortable silence. “Francine loved to patronize struggling artists. And she had an eye for choosing the best. I like that early Wyland above the piano.” With his fork, Tucker pointed to the oil depicting a manta ray swimming above sea fans, angel fish, and coral. “Francine guessed Wyland would be famous one day.”
“I like the seascapes,” Courtney said. “And the tall ships. Nothing’s more graceful than a sailboat tilting under a breeze.”
“I’m redecorating the walls of my waiting room at the clinic with historical memorabilia,” Gravely said.
“From what era?” Zack asked. “I thought you concentrated on photos of exotic fish and fishing boats.”
“Lately I’ve become interested in the 1980s. I’ve been framing flags and old newspaper articles about the Conch Republic and Key West’s colorful mayor.”
“Mayor Wardlow.” Zack smiled. “I was in my teens, but I remember him.”
“My patients like my new decor. Guess a little humor helps lift their mood.”
“I’d like to see your
photographs, Dr. Gravely. I’m always seeking ideas, for subject matter other songwriters may have overlooked. I hadn’t heard of the Conch Republic until yesterday when a cabbie told me about it. Would it be possible for me to see your waiting room sometime?”
Gravely hesitated a moment before replying, and I worried that I had intruded into the privacy of his clinic, but he smiled. “Of course, Bailey. I’ll give you a call one of these days.”
Suddenly, I regretted having asked the favor. All our stilted chitchat this late afternoon had made me forget for the moment that Winton Gravely was a murder suspect along with the rest of us. I had no intention of visiting his clinic anytime soon.
“Bailey?” Zack nodded toward the piano. “How about singing us a short number? A little music might lighten our mood.”
“Right!” Dr. Gravely rose, opened the cover on the keyboard, and pulled the bench out for me.
I sat down at the elegant grand reluctantly. It hardly seemed the time and place for singing and playing the blues, but I began with an arpeggio to warm up my fingers.
“One of the main challenges a songwriter faces in addition to clever lyrics is creating a left-hand piano rhythm that anchors the bass line while it gives the vocalist freedom to create a melody line with enough importance to make the composition hang together.”
I shared only a few lines of an original I had begun and then abandoned—Dreams at Midnight. When I hesitated for a moment, Courtney applauded lightly and spoke.
“Thanks so much, Bailey. I know your next CD’s sure to be a hit. Now, thanks to your generosity, we can say we were first to hear a preview of it here at Eden Palms.”
I took Courtney’s cue, stopped playing, and slid from the piano bench.
“More! More!” Gravely cried.
“Another time,” I said. “Another place.”
“Thank you, Bailey.” Zack made a point of helping me back to my chair. “We all want to hear more, but let’s get to the point of this meeting. There’s no avoiding it. We’re all suspects in this murder case and we need to discuss how we can best defend ourselves once the police start bearing down on us.”
“We may be suspects,” Gravely said, “but there are certainly other people who might also be under investigation. Just because we’re near neighbors, doesn’t rule others from police scrutiny.”
“Any Key West resident who abhors seeing this neighborhood blighted with a home for derelicts could have felt he or she had reason to put an end to such a possibility.” Tisdale looked at us, seeking agreement.
“The police might find a homeless person guilty,” Courtney said. “Some of those street sleepers are mentally deranged. Nobody knows what to expect from them. Maybe one of them hated the thought of a new shelter where he might be forced to live under rules prohibiting drugs—and alcohol is one of their favorite drugs.”
“Or perhaps some building contractor had a fit of jealousy,” Tucker said. “Someone might have hated seeing lucrative contracts go to a competitor.” He nodded as if he’d struck on a great idea.
“And what about that yardman?” Winton asked. “There’s a guy who’d been inside this house looking for…a snake. He certainly deserves an investigation into his background. How did he decide on this neighborhood when he went job hunting? We need answers from that guy.”
Zack cleared his throat. “I think we should keep the information we have to ourselves—information the police gathered from us last night. People besides the police will be asking us questions. The less we say, the better. That’s the point I want to get across tonight.”
“I agree,” Courtney said. “No comment. Isn’t that the line people toss to reporters when they want to avoid answering questions?”
“Right.” Gravely slapped a fist into his palm. “No comment.”
“I can’t imagine anyone low enough to do away with a human life in such a dastardly manner.” Tucker rose, shoving his TV tray to one side. “Clearly, police will call it a hate crime.”
Dastardly. I’d heard that word before and I’d read it in print, but this was the first time I recalled hearing anyone say it aloud. Dastardly. Very descriptive.
Dr. Gravely stood and followed Tucker to the door. “Thank you for the hospitality, Zack. You, too, Courtney. Good of you to help out. Wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.”
Courtney’s gaze followed the men until Zack ushered them out the door. When he returned to the living room, she began gathering the snack plates. “Give me a minute, Zack, and I’ll have everything cleared away.”
Zack stepped between her and the nearest TV table. “No, no, Courtney. You’ve been a lifesaver, but you’ve done enough for today. Bailey and I’ll finish setting things to rights again.”
I didn’t know if I felt glad or sorry. I didn’t mind the setting-things-to-rights statement, but being alone in the mansion with Zack made me feel more uneasy than it had early this morning. Zack didn’t wait for my agreement. He began urging Courtney toward the door in a way that would have made her refusal to leave an embarrassment for all of us.
After Courtney left, Zack stood in the doorway watching Tucker drive away, watching Winton Gravely’s brisk step as he hurried toward his house, stopping briefly to view the Tisdale’s koi pond. He watched Courtney head across the street until she turned to look over her shoulder. Then he closed the door, pretending not to have been watching.
“I’ll cover the snacks and set them in the refrig,” I said, hoping to be on my way to the cottage as quickly as possible.
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.” Zack grabbed the paper plates and napkins and stuffed them into the kitchen wastebasket. When we were through, I broke the awkward silence.
“I must go, now, Zack. It’s been an exhausting day for both of us.”
“Tomorrow will be another of the same kind, and with police interrogation thrown in for good measure.”
“They called me in this afternoon.”
“Damn! How could they? Don’t tell me they did mug shots and fingerprints! If they put you through that scene, I’ll…”
“No. Nothing like that. They wanted to know my thoughts, my thinking about Francine, about her life, and about any hints of danger she may have shared with me.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“I had little to offer.”
I didn’t tell Zack about the note. For all I knew I was talking to a murderer, standing in a killer’s home alone and unprotected. I moved toward the door, but Zack moved faster, blocking my way.
FIFTEEN
I tried to ease past him gracefully, but he stood firm. I backed away from the door and managed to smile as I met his gaze.
“Wait, Bailey. I want to talk to you.”
“But we’ve been talking.” I glanced at my watch. “I know you’re as tired as I am.”
“I need to talk to you alone. Let’s go somewhere for dinner.”
“I’m sorry, but after all those snacks, I’ve no appetite.”
“You hardly touched your food. I watched. I noticed. I’m not hungry either, but we both need to eat.”
We. We. In past times, I might have welcomed his linking us together, but now I stepped back from him, determined to hide my fright. It unnerved me to think he’d been watching me, noticing my actions.
“It’s a poor time for either of us to flaunt a large appetite in public, Zack. I’ll just go on home. You never know who may be speculating on our whereabouts.” I wondered if Courtney might at this moment be standing at a window watching.
“You’re right about attracting public interest, but we both need to eat a real meal. It’s going to take strength to face tomorrow. Let’s go out somewhere even if we only order a hamburger and a salad.”
I smiled at that. Many of the locals here in Paradise consider it a breach of conduct to order beef in preference to seafood.
“I can tell you’re weakening,” Zack said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He took my hand and, quashin
g my fears for the moment, I followed him to the carport and let him help me into his convertible. But before he backed out and headed toward the street, I spoke up.
“Zack, even in Key West, people will talk if they see us together tonight. Your mother’s death will be uppermost in everyone’s mind. We’ll be inviting gossip that might implicate us later.” When Zack looked down at me, I read hurt in his expression.
“Bailey, are you afraid of me? Surely you don’t think I killed my mother—do you?”
“No. I’ll never believe that. Never.” In spite of trying to hide my fear, my tone must have belied my words.
“I can tell you have doubts.” Zack pounded the steering wheel with his fists and breathed deeply. Then he relaxed and sighed. “All things considered, I guess I can’t blame you for your feelings. But surely you’ve known me long enough to know I’m not capable of harming anyone—especially not my mother.”
“I believe you.” Maybe if I said that often enough I really would believe it. I wondered if Courtney had seen us leave the house. Was she standing behind a drapery watching and counting the minutes we’d been sitting in the carport out of her sight?
“Okay. I’ll try to understand your doubts, but I have a favor to ask.”
“What?” I tried not to hold my breath.
“I’m asking again. I want you to work with me, want us to work together to find Mother’s killer. I know the police are investigating, but we may be able to look into details they have no access to.”
“Like what?”
“Like facts involving the other suspects’ alibis. I know people on this rock that I can talk to privately in a way the police can’t. I have markers I can call in. And there’s no way Cassidy or Burgundy can match your woman’s intuition. We’ll work well together as a team.”
“I don’t know about woman’s intuition, Zack. Not really.”
“How about it, Bailey? Will you help me find Mother’s killer? We can use special ways to investigate—ways the police may overlook. I need you.”
Eden Palms Murder Page 11
