by Tripp Ellis
She wasn’t on the bridge deck.
I stumbled down to the main deck.
Buddy looked at me curiously. He lifted an ear and tilted his head, then went about his business.
I walked into the galley, and there was not a trace of the woman. I moved aft, slid open the sliding glass doors, and stepped to the aft deck. I looked down the dock and didn't see any sign of her. It was still relatively early, and there wasn't much life in the marina. Mornings were the only quiet times during Spring Break on the island.
I stepped back inside and fixed breakfast. I looked around for a note, but there was nothing. The sultry vixen vanished as quickly as she had appeared.
I let out a sigh, but I wasn't going to complain. We had a hell of a good time, and it was probably best left at that—no sticky entanglements. No emotions. Nothing to complicate matters. My life was complicated enough.
Jack called and wanted all the details.
"There's not much to tell," I said casually.
"Not much to tell?" He scoffed.
"We came back here, had a good conversation, and when I woke up, she was gone."
"Conversation?" He asked, knowing better. "What did you two talk about?"
"Mating rituals.”
He laughed. "At least she's not a Stage-5 clinger, dude." He paused. "So, how was it?"
I hesitated. "It was good."
"Just good?"
"Okay, good might be an understatement."
"So, you’d do it again?"
"Absolutely," I said without hesitation.
"But you don't have her number?"
"It's probably for the best," I said, trying to convince myself. If I had her number, I would certainly be tempted to call it.
Isabella beeped in.
Before I clicked over, I told JD to swing by the marina and pick me up. We planned on talking to Chuck's friend, Patrick Benson. Maybe he had additional insight. At this point, I was pretty well convinced that Luis Rivera was the shooter, but I was keeping my mind open.
"Got anything interesting?" I asked Isabella.
“Nadia’s cell phone has incoming and outgoing calls to Chuck, a few local boutiques, a woman named Tatiana Garin, a guy named Landon Walsh, the phone company, and several telemarketers. That’s about it. Any of those names jump out at you?"
"Not really. Anything unusual about the timing or the frequency?"
"Not that I can tell,” Isabella said. “Doesn't mean Nadia doesn't have another phone we don't know about."
"What can you tell me about her background?"
"Born in St. Petersburg, Russia. Her family immigrated to the United States when she was twelve. No criminal record."
"What about the contractor, Landon?”
"Hang on."
I waited while her fingers clacked against the keyboard. “28. Born in Coconut Key. Graduated from the local high school. Served four years in the Army. Looks like he has been doing construction and renovations ever since. Has his own company, I Fix Anything, but he’s pretty much a one-man operation."
"Criminal history?"
“A few speeding tickets, a DUI 5 years ago. That's about it." She paused. “Need anything else?"
"That's all for now. Thank you."
I ended the call, hopped in the shower, and got dressed. I press-checked my weapon, holstered it for an appendix carry, and met JD in the parking lot. Classic rock blasted from the speakers, and JD’s dark shades concealed his eyes.
I hopped into the passenger seat of the Porsche, and we cruised across town to Patrick Benson's home. At this time of the morning, there wasn’t much traffic.
Patrick lived in a nice but modest neighborhood. When I say modest, I mean by Coconut Key standards. The prices were still exorbitant. The one-story, three-bedroom was a few blocks from the beach. It was painted in pastel blue and surrounded by a white picket fence with swaying palm trees.
We parked out front, strolled through the gate, and knocked on the front door.
Patrick greeted us a few moments later. He was the same age as Chuck—a little taller, a little skinnier, with a narrow, angular face. He had less gray in his brown hair, but more lines on his face and a deeper tan.
I flashed my badge and made introductions. "I'm assuming you’ve already heard the news?"
He gave a solemn nod, and a frown tugged his face. His eyes misted.
"I'm sorry for your loss,” I said. “Do you have a moment to talk?"
"Sure. Come inside." He stepped aside and motioned us in. He closed the door behind us and led us through the foyer to the living room. "Would you like anything to drink? Water, soda?"
"No, thank you," I said.
He offered us a seat on the sofa, and he sat in the recliner.
"Do you have any leads?"
“A few,” I said. “But we want to get your perspective."
“This was more than just a robbery, wasn’t it?”
“Possibly.”
Patrick grimaced. "Chuck was my best friend. We went to high school together. We were roommates in college. This is just devastating news to me and my wife."
“Is your wife at home?"
"No. She ran to the store. She should be back before long if you need to speak with her."
I sized the man up. There was no way Patrick was the shooter. He was 6’2” and didn't have the same build. "Did Chuck talk to you about the threats he received?"
"Yeah, he brought it up every so often. Is that who you're leaning toward?"
"We’re keeping all possibilities open, but…”
"The little punk’s in jail, but his brother is on the streets." Anger reddened Patrick’s face, and his jaw tightened.
“Was Chuck worried about the threats?" I asked.
"Chuck never really worried much about anything. But I know he did start carrying a pistol around for multiple reasons. He kept one at the store. Too bad he didn't have it in his hand at the time."
"It happened fast. There was no time to react." The consolation didn’t mean much. “What can you tell me about his relationship with Nadia?"
Patrick lifted his brow. "Have you seen Nadia?"
We both nodded.
He whistled an admiring breath. He gave a look around, leaned in, and spoke in a hushed tone. “I can say this because my wife is not around, but damn... Nadia’s a looker. And that friend of hers, Tatiana… I’d give my left nut for some of that." His face crinkled as he thought about it. "I take that back. I’d probably need my left nut with her. Anyway, you get my point."
"They are beautiful women," I said. “Nadia mentioned they met online."
"That's what Chuck told me. As soon as my wife found out, she wanted to get rid of all the computers in the house."
"Was there real chemistry between them?" I asked.
Patrick smirked. "Hell, any man with a pulse would have chemistry with a woman like that."
"You know what I mean."
"I know what you mean. I gotta admit, at first, I was highly skeptical of the whole thing. I told Chuck she was just after his money. He assured me it wasn't like that. Sure, money was a factor—it always is. But I've spent a lot of time with the two of them, and they both seemed really happy together. I know Chuck loved Nadia. He’d do anything for her. I'd honestly never seen him so happy in his entire life."
"Surely there had to be tension at times between the two of them? I mean, she was a young, vibrant woman."
"Nothing a little blue pill couldn’t fix. Besides, Chuck had a lot of energy. He'd always take her out when she wanted. Buy her anything she desired. He never had a problem with her going out with her girlfriends. Chuck wasn’t the jealous type. I mean, don't get me wrong, he wouldn't have taken too kindly to someone else banging his hot wife, but he didn't obsess about where she was going or who she was with.” He paused for a moment. "You don't think she had something to do with his death, do you?"
I shrugged. "I don't think so. She’s got an alibi. Nothing unusual about her phone records. Did
you ever see anything that might indicate she was having an affair?"
"Honestly, no. But it’s pretty standard for you guys to look at the spouses, right?”
"More often than not, people are killed by somebody they know and have a strong personal connection to."
"Kind of makes you want to be a hermit, doesn't it?" Patrick frowned again. "I tell you, if I turn up dead, it's definitely my wife. Means she got sick of my shit. She's been a saint to put up with me for this long. I'm no easy person to live with."
"We can all be difficult at times," I said. “How long have you been married?”
“32 years.”
“Impressive,” JD said.
"I can tell you right now, Nadia didn't kill Chuck. She had nothing to gain.”
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, for starters, Chuck was just about broke. If she planned on collecting a big payday, she’s in for a rude awakening.”
I lifted a surprised eyebrow and exchanged a glance with JD.
10
“Chuck had a little problem,” Patrick said. “He’d made some bad bets. Then he kept digging himself deeper. He was sure he could turn things around, but he was in over his head.”
“How much did he owe?”
"He didn't put a dollar amount on it, but he told me he had burned through all of his savings and retirement accounts. He was considering selling the boat and downsizing the house."
"That bad?"
Patrick gave a grim nod. "If Chuck had a fault, it was blind optimism. Positive attitude is a good thing, but you need to approach things from a realistic perspective. Sometimes he’d get himself in a hole that he couldn’t get out of. He always felt like some miracle would save him. Most of the time, it did."
"And that's one of the reasons he started carrying a gun?" I asked.
"Yeah. Between that and the gang threats. He didn't go into much detail. But I got the impression that he needed to come up with big money fast."
"Who was he into?"
"A guy named Nico Testa. He owns a club called La Baldoria. There is a VIP members' area in the back of the club. I swear, it's like walking into a casino. There's roulette, craps tables, poker tables. You name it. It's all private games among friends, if you know what I mean. Chuck couldn't stay away."
“You gamble?”
“It’s not my thing. I went with Chuck a few times. Too high stakes for me.”
“You think Nico threatened Chuck?”
“I do. Chuck never wanted to alarm anyone. He played the whole thing off like it was no big deal."
"How did the subject come up between you two?"
"We were just shooting the shit one night over a beer. He told me he messed up pretty good. He owed a lot of money and said he might lose everything. In typical Chuck fashion, he figured he’d find a way out of it. He did have a knack for turning his finances around. There were a number of times he got upside down with the business, but he always managed to bring it back. Money was kind of easy for him. He always figured things would just work out. I gotta say, he was one of the luckiest son-of-a-bitches I knew. Until a few days ago." Patrick paused for a long moment. He hung his head, solemnly. "If he was worried about anything, it was about how Nadia would take the news." Patrick frowned. "I told him I’d loan him money, but it was more than I had. He wouldn’t have taken it, anyway. Chuck had a lot of pride."
I gave Patrick my card and told him we might have more questions for him.
"Whatever you need," he replied.
He escorted us to the door, and we thanked him for his time and offered our condolences again. When the door closed behind us, we ambled down the walkway toward the Porsche.
I dialed Big Tony. He was a former Mafia guy turned restaurateur. He had two places on the island—a pizza joint and an upscale Italian eatery. He also ran a standing poker game at the Seven Seas—a high-dollar invitation-only type thing. If there was anyone who could tell me about Nico, it was Tony Scarpetti.
11
“Ugh. That guy,” Tony grumbled into the phone when I mentioned Nico.
“I take it you’re not a fan,” I said.
“I know you can handle yourself, but use caution. The guy has connections and plenty of muscle.”
“You think he could have ordered a hit on Chuck Kennedy?”
“Everybody’s gotta pay their debts. If they can’t pay in green, they pay in blood. Those are the rules, and everybody knows it. You can’t go soft. Otherwise, people will walk all over you.”
It was an unfortunate reality of life in practically all endeavors.
“I know you won’t listen,” Tony continued, “But my advice would be to avoid the guy.”
“Sounds like somebody I should talk to,” I said with a grin.
Tony chuckled. “I figured as much.”
I ended the call, hopped into the Porsche, and we drove back to Diver Down to grab lunch. I figured we’d try to catch up with Nico at his club later in the evening.
The throngs of crowds hadn’t invaded Diver Down yet. The bar would usually start filling up in the afternoon around happy hour, but it was still busier than normal. We managed to find a seat at the bar, and Teagan greeted us with a bright smile. "What's shaking?"
"Oh, just the usual," JD said.
"You guys are usually in some kind of trouble,” she said.
JD smiled. “Not today. Not yet, at least.”
She wore a teal bikini top and cutoff shorts. Her teal eyes sparkled. "What can I get for you boys?"
JD ordered a bowl of gumbo, and I ordered the lobster bisque. Teagan punched in our orders and moved on to other customers. She didn't have much time to chitchat.
"I've been thinking,” JD said.
That was always a dangerous thing.
"We need to expand on merchandising," he continued. "I placed an order for a shit ton of T-shirts. We need someone hustling them at the Spring Jam."
JD's band, Wild Fury, was set to play at the massive music festival. Every year, national and local acts would play the multi-day show aboard a floating stage near Angelfish Key island. Thousands of boats crammed the water, and revelers partied all hours of the day and night while thunderous sound waves echoed across the sea. It was like Woodstock on the water.
"We need a vendor boat,” JD said. “What do you think?"
"I think it's a great idea."
He smiled. "Good. Make it happen."
I gave him a look.
"You're the manager now. You gotta handle this kind of stuff."
"I'll see what I can do," I said.
"I've got another idea…"
"I'm listening."
"We are a party band. Why not facilitate the party with Wild Fury tequila?"
I lifted my brow, surprised and intrigued. "You want to get into the liquor business?"
"Premium tequila. We can expand to whiskey and rum. Top-notch spirits at a reasonable price."
"What do you know about the liquor business?" I asked with a healthy dose of skepticism.
JD smiled. "I consume a hell of a lot of it. I know what people want. I’m in an excellent position to deliver on consumer expectations."
I rolled my eyes.
I liked the concept, but the implementation would, no doubt, be fraught with challenges. And JD would drink all the inventory.
JD thumbed through his phone while we waited. He showed me an image on the screen.
"What's that?"
"It's a 1978 Firebird Trans Am in mint condition."
"I can see that, but why are you showing it to me?"
"Because that’s your next car."
I shook my head. "I don't need a car. I have my bike."
“You need a car, because you're always borrowing mine. And we know what happens when you borrow my car."
"That only happened once."
"Plus, you need something to get groceries with."
"I order groceries online, for the most part, and have them delivered. Somebody carries them all
the way down the dock and leaves them on the deck."
"This is a classic," JD said.
"It's just something else I'd need to insure.”
"So get limited mileage classic car insurance." He scowled at me. "It's not like you can't afford it now."
I took another look at the car. I had to admit, it was damn nice.
"That's classic American muscle."
"That price is a little steep," I said.
"It's cherry. Plus, that's just the asking price. Lowball the hell out of them."
Teagan sauntered by to check on us.
"What do you think?" JD asked, showing her the car. “Should Tyson buy this?"
Her eyes rounded. "Absolutely. My God, that car is so hot!”
JD smiled. "See. You need the car. Hell, if you don't buy it, I might."
"I'll take it under advisement."
JD dialed the number on the advertisement. It rang a few times, then a man answered.
"Yes, my name is Tyson Wild,” JD said. “I’m calling about the car. Is it still available?"
I heard the man's voice crackle through the speaker in JD's phone. "It sure is, but if you're interested, you’d better hurry. I just put that ad online this morning, and I’ve already had three people come look at the vehicle and make offers."
"You got any time to show the car this afternoon?"
"I do."
JD set an appointment and took down the man's address. "We'll see you then." He hung up the phone and smiled at me. "What's the harm in looking?"
"The harm in looking is that I might actually want the damn thing."
"Don't worry, I won't let you pay too much."
"We’re just looking,” I said firmly.
JD smiled again. "And test driving."
Teagan delivered our entrées, and we chowed down.
“If you get that car, I want a ride,” Teagan said.
“I’m telling you,” JD said to me. “You can’t go wrong with a car like that.”
About the time we finished eating, I got a call from Sheriff Daniels. As usual, it wasn't good.
