Pineapple Pack III

by Amy Vansant

I think she tried to shoot me. Her suit deserves everything it got.

  “What?” asked Declan, hearing her humpf of disapproval.

  “She has a gun.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there.” Charlotte motioned behind Stephanie as her gaze drifted back to the weapon in Declan’s hand.

  Wait. When did he get a gun?

  “Is that licensed?” she asked. She didn’t know why. The words had just come out of her mouth.

  Declan frowned, his eyes still trained on the area behind Stephanie. “My gun? Yes. Who is that?”

  He pointed to Jason with his eyes and Charlotte’s own orbs widened. She’d almost forgotten about the man in the corner. She took an unsteady step in Jason’s direction, careful to give Stephanie wide berth.

  Declan barked. “Charlotte, no. We don’t know who he is.”

  She shook her head and continued forward. “We do. It’s Assistant District Attorney Jason Walsh.”

  The body had fallen from the chair and lay in a fetal position, his back to her. Charlotte rolled him over to find wide, glassy eyes staring back at her. She didn’t have to be a coroner to know he was very much dead.

  “He’s dead,” she called back to Declan.

  “Are you sure?”

  “The bullet hole in the center of his head is a dead giveaway.” She’d been too far away to notice the wound before, partially hidden beneath his floppy brown hair.

  She wandered back to Declan, his mouth a hard line, his jaw flexing as his teeth gritted. In other circumstances, she would have said he looked unbearably sexy. Probably even more so, if she could see him with both eyes.

  Stephanie rose to her feet. Her lip shone bright red where Charlotte had connected during their tussle. Her tongue searched out the blood and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Charlotte had never seen her hair in such a mess. It delighted her to no end.

  No heels, messy hair, probably going to jail for murder...this is a banner day.

  “I’m going,” Stephanie said, smoothing her skirt.

  Declan shook his head. “You’re not.”

  She swept a hand toward Jason’s body, pointing. “I didn’t do that.”

  “Then you won’t mind telling the sheriff who did.”

  “I’m going. I won’t be able to figure this out from jail. You’ll have to shoot me.”

  Declan’s jaw flexed again. “Don’t push me.”

  Stephanie started walking towards the door and Declan shot into the air. Both women ducked, throwing their hands over their heads.

  “Freeze!” screamed another voice as the reverberation of the gunfire faded. Frank stood in the doorway, his gun drawn. “All of you.”

  Declan held up his hands. “Frank, it’s Declan.”

  “Right now I don’t care who you are. Put down the gun.”

  Declan lowered the weapon to the ground and kicked it away from them.

  Charlotte glanced at Stephanie. “It’s not him, Frank, it’s Stephanie. She killed Jason Walsh.”

  Stephanie glared. “I didn’t.”

  “And she shot at me. Twice.” She turned to Declan. “Seriously. She fired but she was out of bullets.”

  Declan grimaced and glared at Stephanie, who shook her head and looked away.

  “Exaggeration,” she mumbled.

  “We’ll get it all sorted out.” Frank walked forward.

  “No. Wait.” said Declan, motioning for Frank to stop. “Let me grab her.”

  Frank scowled. “What?”

  “She’s trained. She could have that gun out of your hand before you knew what happened.”

  Frank frowned and looked at Charlotte.

  She shrugged. “He’s probably right. It couldn’t hurt.”

  Frank sighed. “As a younger man I’d have smacked your face for suggesting that.”

  Declan nodded. “I know. But I’m telling you, this isn’t about your age. She’s dangerous.”

  Frank motioned to Stephanie with his gun. “Go ahead.”

  Declan lowered his hands and moved to Stephanie, who seemed to deflate like a balloon as he approached.

  “Declan, don’t,” she said, her head shaking back and forth. “Don’t. I can’t fix things in jail. I have to be out here. I didn’t do it. I really don’t think I did—”

  “If you’re innocent we’ll get it sorted.”

  Stephanie covered her face with her hands. “You don’t understand. I’m being set up.”

  Declan grasped one of Stephanie’s wrists and, springing like a trap at his touch, she swung at him with her opposite hand. He blocked it easily and grabbed that wrist as well. In a flash, he had both her arms pinned behind her back.

  “No, no, no!” her voice rose to a shriek as Frank approached, cuffs in hand.

  Her expression shifted from panic to pure hatred as her eyes locked with Charlotte’s.

  “You’re going to die,” she said, spitting blood to the ground.

  “You’re going to jail,” said Frank, locking the cuffs on her.

  Charlotte heard tires sliding along gravel outside. A second later Deputy Daniel appeared in the doorway, his gun drawn.

  “I came as fast as I could, Frank.”

  “Radio in an ambulance and the coroner’s van and help me get this one to the car.”

  Frank walked Stephanie out of the building, her chin now held high and defiant. She moved with such purposeful grace, it was almost hard to tell who was leading whom.

  Declan moved to Charlotte, lightly touching the area around her eye with his thumb. She winced.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look so good,” he murmured.

  She leaned into his body to rest her good cheek against him and closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “I need karate lessons,” she mumbled.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Declan and Charlotte parked in front of The Anne Bonny and braced themselves to enter Seamus’s holiday party. Charlotte had insisted on driving. The thrill of having her own car hadn’t yet passed.

  She was about to open her car door to exit when Declan touched her shoulder.

  “Wait a second.”

  She turned. “Oh no. Did Seamus set up something crazy you need to warn me about?”

  He shook his head and slipped his hand in the pocket of his linen shorts to retrieve something she couldn’t make out.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He held out a small box. “It’s for you.”

  “Christmas isn’t for another week.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll have more for you then.”

  Charlotte tried not to wince. She still hadn’t thought of anything to get Declan and now he had so many gifts for her he’d started giving them early.

  So much pressure.

  She looked at the box. “You want me to open it now? You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Taking the gift, she pulled the bow on the little box and unwrapped the paper. Lifting the lid she revealed two silver pineapples. She recognized them as the one’s she’d seen at Jimmy the Jeweler’s.

  She gaped at him, stunned. “Pineapple earrings! I saw these the other day at Jimmy’s and wished they were mine. How did you know?”

  Declan shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess. I saw them and they seemed like you.”

  She unhooked one from its backing before realizing she was already wearing earrings. She fumbled to remove the jewelry currently in her ears. As she did, she dropped the pineapple earring and it slipped between the seat and the center console of the car.

  “Oh no.”

  “That was fast, even for you,” said Declan, sounding amused.

  “No, I’ll get it, hold on—”

  Charlotte threw open her door and squatted to search under her seat. She lit the flashlight on her phone to illuminate the crevices until the light bounced off the rogue earring. Her body flooded with relief.

  “I see it,” she announced. S
he reached under the seat and managed to flick the earring from its nook into a spot where she could grab it.

  “Got it!”

  She was about to stand when something else under the Volvo’s seat caught her eye.

  Something vaguely familiar.

  “Did you drop it again?” asked Declan when she didn’t rise.

  “I did, but—”

  She reached back under the seat, her fingers just brushing the edge of the white object she’d spotted. It was a piece of metal, flat, with rounded edges, wedged against the side of the seat.

  “There’s something else stuck in here.”

  “More jewelry?”

  “No, it’s metal but...”

  After pushing and tugging the object in several different directions, the thin metal plate gave way and Charlotte slid it out to shine her flashlight on the face of it.

  Her jaw fell slack.

  “What is it?”

  She looked up at him. “It’s...mine.”

  Declan craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what she held in her hand. “What do you mean?”

  Charlotte stared at the small, aluminum rectangle. The shape and design of it mimicked a Florida license plate, but instead of random letters and numbers, the name Charlotte had been pressed into it and painted black.

  She turned the thin sheet of pressed metal around so Declan could see it.

  “It’s my license plate. I used to have it on the back of my tricycle.”

  Declan took it from her, scowling.

  “I don’t understand. How did it get here?”

  Charlotte stood and slid back in the driver’s seat, goosebumps rising on her arm. “Bob said my mother used to have a car like this. He said my grandmother sold it after she died.”

  Declan handed her back the toy license plate. “You’re saying this is your mother’s car?”

  Charlotte felt her cheeks flush. Her eyes began to tear and she wiped at them, looking away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m making a big deal about this.”

  “Are you kidding?” Declan leaned over and pulled her toward him. “Don’t be embarrassed. This is incredible. What were the chances that you’d happen to buy back your mother’s car?”

  “I was so young when she died. I barely remember her. I didn’t even remember this car, Frank had to remind me.”

  “You must have remembered it, subconsciously maybe?”

  “Maybe. I was drawn to it.”

  He kissed her on the top of her head and hugged her close to him. “My gift seems pretty silly now.”

  She leaned back to peer into his eyes. “What? No, I love the earrings.”

  “Sure, they’re cute, but your car just gave you a gift that made you burst into tears.”

  She laughed, sniffing and feeling a little silly with emotion. “But you were here for me to share this moment. That’s the greatest gift at all.”

  They fell silent for a moment before Declan laughed, and she joined him, hooting.

  “You are so cheesy,” he said.

  She nodded, still laughing. “That was super cheesy.”

  “I can smell cheddar.”

  “Car smells like a fondue party.” Charlotte handed him the plate. “Put this in my glove compartment. It’ll be my good luck charm.”

  He slipped the little license plate into the Volvo’s glove compartment and closed it before resting his hand on her leg. “Ready?”

  She nodded, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror and wiping away any remnants of tears. She still had a yellowing bruise on her eye from her tussle with Stephanie. All she needed now were red puffy lids and smeared mascara and she’d be a proper trainwreck.

  “Just a sec.”

  She finished removing her other earrings and replaced them with the pineapples.

  “What do you think?” she asked, turning her head from side to side to show them off.

  “They look great. But how could they not look amazing on you?”

  She squinted at him. “Are you trying to out cheese me?”

  He shook his head. “Never.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him.

  “Ready?” she asked, giving him an extra peck on the tip of his nose.

  He eyeballed the bar and took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

  They hopped out of the car and headed into The Anne Bonny.

  Seamus spotted Charlotte just as Declan left her to find them something to drink. Declan’s uncle strode across the bar, his arms outstretched.

  “Hello my love! Welcome to The Anne Bonny,” he said, thrusting a small copper mug into her hand.

  “What’s this?” she asked, taking it.

  “It’s a special grog I made for the party. You’ll love it.”

  “I love what you’ve done with the place.” Charlotte’s gaze swept across the dimly lit bar. Pirate paraphernalia hung from every wall and much of the ceiling, but every seat had been claimed by a local, eager to experience the new watering hole. It seemed The Anne Bonny would be a hit. Party lights lined the walls and hung from the beams spanning the ceiling.

  Seamus looked around the room, grinning. “I think she came together nicely.”

  “What made you call it The Anne Bonny?”

  “The idea came to me in a dream. She’s the most famous Irish pirate, you know.”

  “I did not know that.” Charlotte took a sip of the grog and winced, her lips puckering. The concoction tasted like it had been mixed in a pirate’s sweaty boot.

  “What’s in this?” she asked, doing her best not to cough. “It can’t be legal.”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “I’ll probably be dead in a second, so sure.”

  Seamus leaned in. “It’s all the old booze the previous owners left behind and some juice they had on sale at Publix.”

  Charlotte grimaced and put her mug on the bar. “It’s worse than being keelhauled.”

  Seamus shrugged. “Better than throwing all that booze out. That would be wasteful.”

  “I think you’ve confused wasteful with the right thing to do.”

  Seamus took a sip of his own drink, which Charlotte noted was not grog.

  “So I hear you caught Stephanie up to her neck in it,” he said.

  Charlotte nodded.

  “Rumor is you saw her kill a man.”

  She sighed. “No. I didn’t actually. He was dead when I got there, I think. She says she didn’t do it.”

  “But she shot at you, too.”

  Charlotte’s gaze shot to Seamus. “Where did you hear that?”

  Seamus smiled. “I have my sources. Are you pressing charges?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth but no words came forth. She honestly didn’t know. The whole event had been so surreal, now she wondered if she really had heard the clicks of Stephanie’s gun.

  I did, didn’t I?

  But to pile on when she was already up for murder…

  Why do I feel bad for her? The woman is a nightmare…

  Declan appeared behind his uncle with two mugs of punch in his hands, saving the day and leaving her beholden to answer.

  “The slug they pulled out of Jason Walsh came from Stephanie’s gun,” he said, handing Charlotte one of the drinks.

  She took the mug and put it directly on the bar beside her other one. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Frank just told me. Darla said he’s on his fourth glass of punch and he’s chattier than I’ve ever seen him. He said almost four full sentences to me.”

  Seamus winked at Charlotte. “Fourth glass. See? People love the grog.”

  Declan glanced at Charlotte’s mugs. “I saw you were empty-handed. You didn’t want any?” He took a sip of his own mug as he finished his sentence. His expression twisted as if he’d sipped battery acid. Which, Charlotte guessed, he had from the taste of it.

  “Holy—”

  “There’s nothing holy about it,” said Charlotte, laughing.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?
”

  “It wouldn’t have been half as much fun.”

  Charlotte felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and fished it out to check the screen. She didn’t recognize the number. She excused herself and stepped outside to escape the Irish music long enough to take the call.

  “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end of the line was female, but Charlotte couldn’t place it.

  “Tell them you know she didn’t do it.”

  “What? Who is this?”

  “Stephanie’s innocent. Tell them.”

  Charlotte’s jaw creaked open, her own voice stolen. A chill ran down her spine.

  She recognized the speaker now.

  Stephanie’s mother, Jamie Moriarty. A voice Charlotte had hoped to never hear again.

  That’s why I feel bad for her.

  The reason Charlotte felt so much misplaced compassion for Stephanie became clear as polished glass.

  Stephanie’s mother is the notorious Puzzle Killer, possibly the most prolific serial killer of all time.

  What chance did Stephanie have? Who was there to teach her love? Charlotte still felt scarred from the short time she’d spent hunting—and losing—Jamie Moriarty.

  Imagine if she were my mother.

  She’d been lucky to escape with her life during Jamie’s last visit to Pineapple Port.

  “I don’t know your daughter’s innocent,” said Charlotte, embarrassed to hear her voice stick in her suddenly dry throat.

  “But you’ll find a way to prove it.”

  “You want me to prove Stephanie’s innocent?”

  “I do.”

  “Why me?”

  Jamie paused. “Why not you? Don’t let me down. The consequences would be…unfortunate.”

  The phone went dead.

  Charlotte lowered herself to the step of The Anne Bonny, staring at her phone.

  She’d just been threatened by the most notorious serial killer of all time.

  That can’t be good.

  THE END

  Pineapple

  Jailbird

  A Pineapple Port Mystery: Book Eight

  Amy Vansant

  ©2019 by Amy Vansant. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by any means, without the permission of the author. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.