Eden Palms Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  “I know, Bailey. Winton has a brilliant mind and he attended med school to please his parents who wanted to boast of a professional in the family. He had no deep desire to be a doctor, but to please them he added the clinic to their mansion and worked there on a small scale. His family had money. At that time Winton didn’t have to earn a living.”

  “At that time?”

  “Right. At that time. Then the family business went down the tubes due to bad investments. His parents both died—heart attacks. Probably died from the shock of losing the business. Luckily, Winton had his M.D. to fall back on.”

  “I understand that he doesn’t offer his services for free. Francine told me it takes a fortune to be admitted to his clinic. I think he’s weird and so is Tucker Tisdale.”

  Zack sighed. “Your personal feelings about the neighbors isn’t helping our investigation, Bailey. Maybe we should drive back to Mallory and talk to the guy with the reptiles.”

  “And ask him what? I’m not eager to tangle with him again. But it wouldn’t hurt to mention our encounter with him to the police.”

  Zack and I were at an impasse that could easily escalate into a full-blown argument. When we reached the cottage, we made no plans for more private investigating tomorrow. I left the car, slammed the door, and strode toward the cottage. Zack hurried to join me.

  “Will you have supper with me, Bailey? I hate ending today on a sour note. Maybe we should forget private investigating. How about finding some quiet spot for supper and forgetting our snoop plans?”

  Zack’s invitation tempted me until I remembered the threat note. I wasn’t eager to spend the evening alone. But neither was I eager to spend it with Zack. After our activities and our near arguments today, Zack seemed almost as weird as Gravely or Tisdale or Courtney Lusk. Or maybe I was the weird one of the group—weird for sticking around at Murder Central.

  “Thanks for the invitation, Zack. But I really need to spend time alone tonight. Perhaps in the morning we’ll both feel differently about both our personal investigation and about the police and their activities.”

  “Perhaps.”

  And with that one word, Zack turned and left. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? How could I feel so strongly attracted to a man that I didn’t completely trust, a man who might have murdered his mother? I wanted to trust him, but I faced reality. Zack Shipton had no airtight alibi for his actions on last Monday evening.

  TWENTY

  Gathering clouds precluded a candent sunset this evening. I waited until I felt sure Zack had gone inside before I walked to a paper box and bought today’s Citizen. Once back home, I scanned every column for any latent news of Francine’s murder. Nothing. Laying the paper aside, I sat at my desk, turned on my computer, and pulled my song-in-progress onto the screen. I’d worried about having no time to write, and now that a free evening stretched ahead of me, my mind refused to click into a fast-forward mode that made blues improvisations a possibility.

  After a frustrating half hour of staring at the computer screen, I gave up creating anything new and started reviewing pages in my idea notebook. I paused. What title would give my album the impetus to fly off the shelves? Would blues aficionados as well as music critics like it? Titles could be all-important to the sale of a CD. But…plenty of time to jot down potential titles later.

  I started considering first lines. Nothing new and fresh popped into mind. Still searching for a first line, I strolled to the living room and snapped on the TV before I wandered to the kitchen. I didn’t feel hungry, but I tossed myself a salad, made a sandwich, and tried to eat while I watched the early news. Bad thinking. Who could enjoy eating while dead bodies and terrorist attacks dominated the screen? I ordered myself to stop stalling and start writing. I headed toward the computer again, but when I glanced out the window, I saw Zack’s convertible stopping across the street at Courtney’s home. Hmmm. Maybe more sparks were flying between Zack and Courtney than I realized.

  Zack left the car, strode to the porch, lifted the brass knocker. Courtney appeared immediately, her long auburn hair flowing around her bare shoulders and almost touching the top of her sea-green sarong. She wobbled on her spike-heeled sandals, and Zack took her elbow to steady her. They walked hand in hand to the car where he helped her into the passenger seat. After they drove off, I felt like a fool for gawking.

  What did I care whom Zack chose to dine with? Yet, if it was of no importance to me, why did I wish Courtney knew she’d been second choice this evening? I refused to admit jealousy, but I couldn’t help wondering where they were going, how they’d spend the evening. I remembered the care Zack had taken to avoid being seen dining with me. Or maybe I’d been the one worrying about that. Evidently Zack felt unconcerned about being seen with Courtney.

  Maybe Zack had asked Courtney to help in his covert murder investigation. Or, on the other hand, maybe he suspected Courtney. I liked that thought best.

  Follow them, Bailey. Follow them.

  The thought titillated my mind, tempting me, prodding me to action. Maybe they were meeting someone that Zack suspected of murdering Francine—someone whose identity he hadn’t shared with me. Zack’s convertible would be easy to spot on this small island. But my green town car would be even easier to notice. How embarrassing if Zack were to discover me stalking him.

  Why not follow them on Francine’s bike? She told you to use it whenever you pleased.

  I saw the flaw in that idea immediately. How I hated books in which the heroine played the fool and then later claimed, oh so innocently, that she’d no idea she might endanger herself by walking unaccompanied along that lonely beach in the dark of night. Don’t go there. A woman alone on a bicycle at night would be placing herself in danger—from traffic if from nothing more sinister.

  All the time my mind juggled crazy thoughts, I was looking up Mitch’s cell number. What if he didn’t have his phone turned on? I’d no idea where he spent his nights, since he didn’t use his apartment. Wrong. I did have an idea, but I refused to accept it. One. Two. Three. On the fourth ring Mitch answered.

  “Mitch here.”

  “Mitch. Are you busy tonight?

  “Hey, Sis. What’s the buzz?”

  “I want to go biking, and I need company.”

  “May I translate the word ‘company’ to mean protection?”

  “Perhaps. Can you come here so we can talk about it?”

  “Sure. Got no big thing going tonight. Princess and I are just sitting here worrying about Wizard.”

  I asked the question he expected. “What’s going on in Wizard’s life that worries you?”

  “He’s disappeared. Gone. Nobody’s seen him all day.”

  “Maybe he got tired of sleeping in a tent and found a more comfortable spot.”

  “Don’t think so. I think he’s in trouble and I want to help him.”

  I wanted to say, Forget Wizard and help me instead. “Have you reported his disappearance to the police?”

  “Hah! Double hah! You think the cops are about to spend time searching for a homeless guy?”

  “Maybe not. Have you tried the social services office?”

  “No thanks, Sis. If they found him, they’d want to reform him.”

  “Well I have a plan of sorts. If you’ll go biking with me tonight, we’ll take time out from my mission to look for Wizard.”

  “Your mission?”

  “Tell you when you get here. Ride over ASAP, okay?”

  “May I bring my laundry? Got some duds that need a little swish and suds.”

  “Fair exchange. Bring them along. I’ll run the washer while we’re riding.”

  “Great, Sis. No need to separate whites from darks.”

  I tried not to imagine the state of Mitch’s laundry. “Can you come right away?”

  “Sure. You in danger?”

  “No danger. But come as soon as you can.” I held back telling him about the threat note.

  Mitch broke the connection, and I changed in
to a black jumpsuit, although I knew black clothes put riders in danger—hard for motorists to see. Well, that’s what I wanted to be—hard to see. I wanted to leave the porch light on while I jogged to the carport for the bike, but no. Mustn’t attract neighborly attention. Francine had been an avid early-morning biker, so I knew the bike tires would be up. And they were. I rode around the cul-de-sac twice to be sure I had the feel of it. Clouds still masked the sky. I felt nobody had seen me.

  The night was so black that Mitch spoke before I saw him. “Made you jump, didn’t I?”

  I could imagine his grin. “Okay, you did. But that’s all right. You need a little victory in your life now and then.”

  “Let’s go inside and get my laundry started. Your put-down bugs me.”

  “What a surprise! When did clean laundry become relevant to your present lifestyle?”

  “It’s not. I’m humoring you. Don’t be such a wonk.”

  I led him into the laundry room without giving him the satisfaction of asking what a wonk might be. Once the laundry started swishing, I presented my case.

  “So you intend to try to find Zack and then spy on him and Courtney? Hey, she’s some dish, right? Don’t blame you for being green-eyed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not jealous.”

  “Then, what’s the buzz? You afraid of those two? Think they did Francine in? That why you’ve called on a person of such negative social status to protect you?”

  “Don’t joke, Mitch. I’m jittery. Don’t know who I can trust.”

  “And it bothers the hell out of you to admit Zack might be guilty. Right? That the problem? And you’d like to blame the murder on someone else if possible?”

  “What makes you think you’re so smart?”

  “Talked you into doing my laundry, didn’t I?”

  “Touché. Let’s forget my motives for finding Zack and Courtney. Let’s get going. In some respects Key West’s a small island, but when you start searching for somebody on a dark night, it can be a very big island.”

  “Where ya wanta start? Duval Street?”

  “No. I doubt that they’d head for any place on Duval. Unless, maybe Pier House. Judging from Courtney’s outfit, I’m guessing they might go to one of the other posh hotels. We can scope the parking lots. It should be easy to spot Zack’s convertible—if it’s nearby. But they may have gone off-island for more privacy.”

  “Like you and Zack did?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  Mitch shrugged and grinned. “I promised Mom to look out for my sister.”

  Mounting our bikes and riding single file, we pedaled along Eaton Street.

  “Maybe we should check the parking ramp on Grinnell,” Mitch said. “Those two might like the idea of parking, then walking to some hole-in-the-wall eatery where their car wouldn’t be seen.”

  “Don’t think either of them are hole-in-the-wall types, but if they’re trying to keep a low profile, well…”

  When we entered the ramp, the obese guy in the ticket kiosk gave us the eye, but he remained seated. Probably required too much effort to hoist all that weight upright. He shrugged when he saw us riding up the ramp. I scrutinized every car we passed, although this proved to be a tougher ride than I’d anticipated. I huffed and puffed long before we reached the top level. Mitch wouldn’t admit to any weakness of lung or limb, but he didn’t push on when I stopped near the top to rest.

  “Guess they avoided this convenient and inexpensive ramp parking with shuttle bus service so thoughtfully provided by our city fathers.” Mitch managed the lengthy spiel of sarcasm without gasping.

  I couldn’t hide my own thready breathing, but Mitch didn’t comment. “Key West at night. Twinkling lights. The scent of night-blooming jasmine. The swish and sway of palm fronds. Even on a night without moonlight, I feel like I’m looking down on a city of excitement and enchantment.”

  “Try sleeping on the beach if you really want excitement and enchantment. That’s what my buddies and I experience every night of the world.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about Duval Street,” I said when we headed back down the ramp, braking now to keep from crashing into a car or a retaining wall. “Let’s scope the parking lot at Pier House. I think it’d be upscale enough for Courtney’s taste, and there are secluded tables where they might dine in privacy.”

  “You been there a lot?”

  “Only once long ago. But we might see them dining at beachside, or perhaps in candlelight on the outdoor patio.”

  “Okay, Sis. Whatever you say. It’s your call. But if we could see them, they could see us.”

  “Right. We’ll take care.”

  When we reached Pier House, we circled the shadowed parking lot, avoiding making eye contact with the security guard.

  “No laws against tourists bicycling into a parking lot,” Mitch whispered, riding by my side.

  “Let’s not push our luck. Look for the Thunderbird.”

  We saw several convertibles, but no red T-bird, and we left the area quickly. I felt the security guard’s gaze following us.

  “Where to now?” Mitch asked. “You rule out a lot of places when you rule out Duval.”

  “If you wanted to find a quiet spot, where would you go?” I rode ahead of him, hugging the curbing.

  “The beach. Not too many folks seek the sand at night. Maybe some of my friends, but few of your friends. We might spot Wizard somewhere on the beach.”

  “Okay. We’ll keep an eye out for him. There are some pricey restaurants out that way. Martha’s. Benihanas. The Sheraton.”

  “Lead the way. This’s your party.”

  I paused to wait for Mitch at the next corner. “Okay. If we’re going to South Roosevelt and the beach, why not ride along Simonton? They could be at Logun’s or at The Reach.”

  We rode past Logun’s, and turned at the seawall where wind whipped waves over the concrete retaining wall, dampening our feet.

  “Enough of that.” Mitch turned his back to the spray, and we headed toward The Reach. I didn’t know the exact location of the restaurant inside the hotel, but many guests had parked on ground level in a covered lot. When we tried to enter the lot, a guard stopped us.

  “No admittance,” he announced. “Butt out.”

  We rode out of his sight before we stopped again.

  “Now what?” I asked. “I want to check the cars back there. Maybe we could ask the guard if he’s seen a red T-bird.”

  “Oh, right.” Mitch snorted. “Then he’d want to see an I.D. and know the why behind our request. I’ve got a better plan.”

  “Give.”

  “Follow me.”

  I followed Mitch as he rode in the street beside the curbing, heading away from the hotel. We’d gone only a short distance before he dismounted and began pushing his bike toward a large house. I followed. Before we reached the house, Mitch turned abruptly and we stood ankle deep in sand. And darkness. Even in bright moonlight, I guessed this place would be dark, shadowy. And smelly. No scent of jasmine here, and I refused to identify the stench. A planked fence blocked vision on one side, and tropical shrubbery growing heavy and thick around the white house cut off vision on our other side. Ahead of us waves slapped against a shoreline.

  “Where are we, Mitch? I’ve never seen this beach before.”

  “Few people have. My buddies and I call it Dog Beach. It’s only a few feet of sand where people can walk their dogs and let them play in the sea. Cops seldom bother anyone here.”

  I could understand why. Even the cops wouldn’t want any part of this nasty-smelling place.

  “Let’s leave, Mitch. This scene’s not for me.”

  “Don’t wimp out on me now. I’m still keeping an eye out for Wizard, and I’m almost as interested in learning what Zack’s up to as you are. I lost an upscale customer when Francine died.”

  “Some attitude. A woman lies murdered, and you only see her as a lost customer. Looking for Zack was a bad idea, Mitch. This place’
s too creepy. Someone could be spying on us right now. Maybe there’s someone here we can’t see.”

  “Bring your bike. Follow me. We won’t be here long. We’ll walk closer to the water, prop our bikes on kickstands, and prowl the hotel parking area on foot.”

  I was following Mitch slowly—reluctantly—when a light in the backyard of the white house caught my eye. I peered through the tropical greenery. Zack! Courtney! They sat at an on-the-beach bar, their backs partially toward us, the glow from a patio torch playing on Courtney’s profile. I called to Mitch who had gone on ahead.

  “Look at this, Mitch.” He joined me and we peered at our prey.

  “Louie’s Back Yard,” Mitch whispered. “Forgot about this beachside bar. Are they with anyone?”

  “I think they’re alone. They’re talking only to each other. Wish I could hear what they’re saying. Wish I could hear if they’re talking about Francine.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Sis. I’m guessing he’s whispering sweet nothings into her ear between sips of champagne and bites of coconut shrimp. That’s what I’d be doing if I was dining with a dish like Courtney.”

  “Let’s go, Mitch.” I peered into the darkness behind us, and then grabbed his arm. “Wait. I hear someone.”

  Mitch waited and we both listened, hearing nothing but music drifting from the backyard bar.

  “See anyone?” Mitch asked. “It’s blacker than a cat’s insides out here.”

  “I thought I heard footsteps gritting in sand. I think we’re being watched.”

  “You’ve got a big imagination.”

  I faced the street. “Let’s grab our bikes and go. Enough of this.”

  “Okay,” Mitch said. “But don’t blame me. It was your idea.”

  We jogged across the fragrant Dog Beach.-I half expected our bikes to be gone, but they were right where we’d left them. And someone had slashed all four tires.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Damn!” Mitch whispered. “What s.o.b…” Mitch kicked at his slashed tire, and then examined my bike. “Who could have followed us? Someone may have been tailing us all evening. When I find out who…”