Hap and Sadie, her hair freshly coiffed and sparkling blue in the sunlight streaming into the park model’s windows, were seated on the couch. They had come early to have a bite of lunch before the ceremony. Hap sat quietly with a look of deep concern on his face as he watched his daughter pace. He wore his white linen suit and each time he shifted position on the couch, a scent of mothballs wafted across the room and out the windows. Naomi helped Emily make iced tea and tuna sandwiches.
“Something wrong, honey? You’re awfully quiet today,” Emily said.
Naomi kept her head down and continued to slice lemons for the tea. “No.”
Emily didn’t know her daughter well, but something in her tone of voice and her unwillingness to make eye contact with anyone today said she was upset. She looks guilty, but about what?
Clara, perhaps because she was the queen of denial when it came to her own feelings, possessed radar for cover-up when it came to others hiding theirs. Emily had seen her do it before, home in on what someone was trying to hide, like the day she figured out how angry Emily was at Fred’s death and how much she pitied herself because of it.
Clara stopped mid-stride and focused on Naomi, narrowing her eyes as if to see through Naomi’s shuttered eyes and into her head. “Naomi, you’re hiding something. Tell me.” Clara crossed the room in two steps and stood over Naomi. Her mouth was set in a tight line, her eyes dark with threat.
“Nothing. I’m sad, that’s all,” said Naomi.
Emily stepped between Clara and Naomi. “Leave her alone, Clara. She’s got enough on her mind right now. She doesn’t need to have you browbeating her for no reason except that you’re upset and looking for a target for your anger.”
Naomi threw the lemons down on the counter and slipped around Clara. “I’ve got to get dressed now. Excuse me.”
She retreated down the hall and slammed the bedroom door closed.
“She knows something about Darren,” said Clara. She prepared to follow her down the hall.
Hap rapped his cane on the floor. “Stop it, both of you. This isn’t helping anybody. If Naomi has something to say that you should hear, she’ll tell you in her own time. Now, I’m starving. I thought we came here to eat.”
Emily gave a sideways glance at her friend, ducked her head, and tore open a bag of chips.
“I’m sorry, Emily. I’m frantic. Darren’s not the best kid, but he’s better than this.”
“I know. I’m worried about him too. Let’s eat now. I’ll see if Naomi wants a sandwich, then I’ll talk to her after lunch.”
Emily never got a chance to confront her daughter about what she was hiding—and she was certain she was hiding something—because of the phone call that interrupted their meal.
“It’s Detective Lewis,” Emily said. She held out the receiver. “He wants to talk with you, Clara.”
Clara took the phone, listened for several minutes and finally said, “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” She turned away from the table, her shoulders slumping. Then she took a deep breath as if fortifying herself for a difficult task and turned back to everyone.
“The medical examiner reported a bullet wound as cause of death for Eddie. He didn’t drown as we first thought. It was the same kind of weapon as that used to shoot out the club house window the other night. And Lewis thinks there’s a connection between the two murders. I think so too.”
“You think Darren’s involved,” said Emily.
“He is involved. He called me from the bar on your cell the night Davey was murdered, so he was there. I haven’t told Lewis it was Darren, but I think he suspects.”
Hap looked up from his sandwich. “As your attorney I advise you to keep your mouth shut, my dear. There’s no need to involve these other folks.”
Emily grabbed the edge of the table and leaned forward, a pugnacious look on her face. “We’re not ‘other folks’. We’re friends, almost family,” she said.
Naomi hadn’t said a word since she rejoined them at the table. She seemed mesmerized by her sandwich, picking at the crumbs of bread and not looking up from her plate.
“I don’t know who killed Davey and my ex, but I’m trying to protect my family and my friends. The fewer people who know what I do, the better,” said Clara.
“Maybe you should talk to Lewis, tell him about Darren’s call to you. And you were upset about his birth certificate. Tell him about that too,” Emily said.
Both Naomi and Hap looked at Emily in surprise.
“He knows?” asked Hap.
Clara nodded. “I found it in his back pack.”
“That’s not good,” said Hap.
Naomi threw her fork down on the plate. “You went through his things?” Her tone was one of indignation. “You palm him off on my mother while you’re in jail and then you get so interested in his life that you snoop in his back pack? Mothers.” Naomi pushed away from the table and sat with her arms crossed over her chest, her lips drawn tight in a grimace of disgust.
Emily held her head in her hands. Everyone seemed to know more about what was going on than she did. Even her daughter appeared to hold a piece of the puzzle while Emily’s hands were empty.
“Let’s leave this until after the funeral,” said Clara.
Hap looked relieved while Naomi remained silent and brooding. Emily wondered if Naomi’s allusion to mothers included her.
Few people were gathered in the Partridge Funeral Parlor when Emily and Clara walked in followed by Naomi, Hap, and Sadie. Clara scanned the mourners seated in rows in front of the casket and nodded to a few as did Hap, who then went over to talk with another older man seated at the very back of the room.
“That’s Eddie’s uncle, Archibald Clapp. He’s all the family Eddie had. Except for Darren and me. I’ll be back in a minute,” said Clara. She followed Hap over to the man and embraced him.
He sure didn’t look anything like the Eddie Emily had seen in the photo in Clara’s bedroom. This man reminded her of the detective she first met in the police station, Toby-the-Spitter. Both men were short, square of build, and had thinning hair. But maybe Eddie didn’t look anything like his uncle. She found a seat in the front and pulled Naomi and Sadie into chairs beside her.
“I’m surprised,” said Naomi. “The coffin’s open. I thought the body was, well, you know, not in great shape.”
Sadie leaned over and, in a stage whisper, said, “Oh, you’d be surprised what they can do nowadays. My cousin’s next door neighbor was found in her house days after she died, and they made her look like a fairy queen. Cousin Betty said she looked better lying in that coffin than when she dressed up for church on Sunday. C’mon. Let’s have a peek. I mean, we ought to pay our respects.”
Sadie grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her out of her chair. Emily didn’t want to view the body, but Sadie wouldn’t let go of her, and she found herself in front of the casket. She glanced at Eddie’s face. Not bad, if you didn’t focus on his features too long. No evidence of what several days in the water did to him. But, oh, my God. This is awful. She turned away from the casket and rushed to the back of the room.
“I’ve got to talk to you,” she said to Clara. “The body in the coffin. It’s not Eddie’s.”
Clara whirled around and practically ran down the aisle and peered into the casket. Emily followed her.
“Well?”
“How would you know what my ex looked like? You’ve never met him, have you?” asked Clara.
By now Naomi, Hap, and Sadie had joined Clara and Emily in front of the coffin. They were drawing curious stares from others in the room.
Uncle Archibald approached. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“No, I’ve never met him, but I saw his picture in your bedroom when I picked up clothes the day you were arraigned.”
“What picture?” asked Clara. She had grabbed Emily’s arm and was holding on so tight that Emily thought it would go numb.
“I dropped the one of you and Darren on the floor and ano
ther photo behind it fell out. It was a picture of Darren’s father, Eddie. I could tell because he and Darren have the same hair and grey eyes.”
Clara’s eyes shifted away from Emily’s face and to Hap’s. He shook his head and turned away.
“That’s not the man in the picture.” Emily gestured toward the body lying among the satin folds of the casket. “That’s not Darren’s father.” Once the words were out of her mouth, she realized she’d made a mistake.
“Eddie’s not Darren’s father?” asked Archibald. “Is that what you’re saying? What’s going on here?”
“I’d kind of like to know that too,” said Detective Lewis. He had entered the room without attracting attention and now joined the group at Eddie’s coffin.
Clara turned on him, her eyes snapping with irritation. “What business is this of yours, Detective? This is a funeral. People are mourning the dead here. Shouldn’t you be ticketing speeders or better yet, solving two murders?”
Emily recognized her response as penultimate Clara—attack when you’re feeling cornered. Lewis merely smiled and rolled his eyes revealing he too knew Clara’s penchant for offense when she felt trapped.
She put out her hand to her friend. “Clara, we need to talk, but not now. After the service.”
Emily then turned to Lewis and confronted him, the top of her head barely at his chin level. But her voice was firm. “She’s right. We’re mourning the death of a husband and father. Anything else can wait until later. There’s a seat in the back.” Emily gestured toward the row where Uncle Archibald had been seated. Now another man sat there also. Donald Green. “Next to Donald, Detective.”
She led Clara back to the first row. They took their seats as the minister entered. Archibald still stood in the center of the aisle, confusion and anger making a play for expression on his face. He started forward toward Clara, but then, turned and walked back to his seat.
“You were spying on me,” said Clara. Her voice was low enough that only Emily could hear her.
“I accidentally knocked the picture over and the frame loosened, that’s all. I was not spying on you. I had no reason to spy on you. Maybe now I do.”
The funeral director closed the coffin lid, obscuring the features of Clara’s ex, and the mourners quieted as the minister began his remarks.
“We are gathered here to celebrate the life of our friend, husband,” he nodded in Clara’s direction, “and father.” He looked around the room, as did everyone else, but Darren was absent.
From the back of the room, Emily heard Archibald clear his throat. Clara looked uncomfortable and wiggled in her seat as if she was impatient to get the service over. The clergyman droned on for several more minutes, but since Eddie hadn’t had much of a life beyond that in prison, he found little to say about how it could be “celebrated” aside from his remarks about Eddie’s dedication to his son, Darren. Clara muttered something about, “Oh, right. Visitation days were a load of fun for the little guy.” He quickly moved on to mentioning Clara as the ex-wife, “now a good friend, who feels his loss deeply.” At this point, Clara leaned forward and looked accusingly at her father. “Did you tell him to say that, Dad?”
He leaned back at her. “I had to give him something to say or this would have ended in five minutes.”
“That would have been better than lying.”
Emily pulled her back into her seat and told her to “hush up.” She turned her head to look at Uncle Archibald, Lewis, and Green and found them with their heads together, deep in conversation. That can’t be good.
“Would anyone like to come forward and say a few words about Edward?” asked the minister.
In the silence following the minister’s invitation, people shifted restlessly in their seats. When no one stepped forward, the gathering gave a collective sigh of relief, relief that this ordeal was over and relief that no one was willing to say anything, bad or good, about the man. “Well, then, let us bow our heads in prayer for . . .” the minister began.
“I have something to say.” The voice came from the back of the room.
All heads turned in that direction.
“Darren,” said Hap.
“Thank God,” said Emily.
“Oh, damn that boy is dumb,” said Clara.
CHAPTER 16
Ignatious Palatier wiped his full lips with the linen napkin and gazed approvingly over the marina next to the restaurant in which he and his brother-in-law, Thomas Brookfield, were having lunch. Motor boats were tied up at the docks, and farther out, he could see sailboats bobbing at their moorings. He loved being on the coast, soaking up the cosmopolitan atmosphere of fine restaurants with their pandering waiters and costly menu offerings. He chose to ignore the curious glances of those who thought his boots and cowboy hat too gauche for West Palm.
Towering clouds rolled by and cast their shadows on the deck. The temporary shade offered a welcome reprieve for diners braving the gathering heat of the afternoon.
“A far piece from cows and gators,” said Thomas. His gaze followed that of Ignatious. He took another sip of his martini and sat back in his chair with a sigh of pleasure. “I can’t imagine why you want to stay there when you could move down to West Palm with me.”
Ignatious knew his brother-in-law wasn’t serious. Why would Thomas want to bring a cowboy from the rangeland of central Florida into his upscale east coast practice? And Ignatious had no illusions about himself. He was a boot wearing, string tie kind of guy. If he moved into a fancy law firm like Thomas’ he’d have to account for his time as well as change his mode of dress. Ignatious liked his freedom, and the last thing he wanted was to have Thomas riding herd on how he practiced law. No, making contact over an occasional lunch was fine with him as long as Thomas picked up the tab.
“Still representing that little lady from up north, the one whose partner left her with nothing?” asked Thomas. He chewed the last bite of his lemon sole with a look of ecstasy on his face. Ignatious had finished his burger several minutes before and was working on his third Crown Royal on the rocks.
Ignatious searched his mind. What had he said about Emily Rhodes to his brother-in-law over one of their three martini lunches? Was it something he should have kept to himself? The two of them had no compunctions about crossing ethical lines, so he wasn’t worried Thomas could call him on breach of conduct for talking about Ms. Rhodes. But Thomas might use something Ignatious let slip about her to manipulate him in some manner. He knew better than to answer too quickly without getting more information. Yes, Thomas was up to something. Ignatious crunched his ice and signaled the waiter for another drink.
“You know the ex-wife came to me, and I thought if you were still representing the partner, we could work out some kind of a deal that benefited both of us.” Brookfield cleared his throat and took another sip of his martini. “I mean, something of benefit to both our clients.”
Ignatious considered his words. Thomas sometimes threw bits and pieces his way. If some pistol-toting, spur-wearing cattle rancher wandered over to the coast for representation, Thomas might toss him back onto the range and give him to Ignatious to represent. Thomas certainly didn’t want that kind of client sitting in his waiting room scaring away all the diamond-ringed, gold-adorned wealthy female clientele who made up the bulk of his practice.
Ignatious decided to be circumspect. “Maybe. If I am, we can’t talk about it anyway and, if I’m not, then I’ve got nothing you want, brother.”
“Between us chickens, I could use any information you have about her. I think she’s gonna make a pitch to the court based upon her many years of devotion to him, and I don’t want any pretty blonde preschool teacher messing up the case for my client.”
“How could she? Your client has a will in her favor.”
Thomas nodded and signaled the server for the check.
Ignatious was puzzled about Thomas’ interest in the case. “And aren’t we talking about a piddly estate here? So what if this Rhodes woman gets
some of it? It won’t hurt your client. I hear she’s loaded.”
“Oh, she is loaded. That’s the problem. It might look bad for her in one of those friendly working folks’ courts you’ve got over there. Big, bad, rich lady divorces the guy, then years later takes all of his money leaving little suffering partner nothing. You know your rural judges and the ranchers, wealthy as they might be, wouldn’t take well to screwing the underdog.”
The waiter stood over the table with the check, lingering for a signal to place it down in front of one of them. Thomas waited for a reply from Ignatious, who ignored the waiter, as did Thomas.
“Well, if Ms. Rhodes were my client, that’s the way I’d play it.”
“She’s not then.”
Ignatious would never tell the truth, that Emily Rhodes had fired him. So he pressed Thomas. “Why should you care how this case goes, money-wise?”
The waiter still stood at the table, eyes staring out the window, awaiting his cue.
“If I win this one, I win all the business for the ex Mrs. Costa. Get it, Iggie?”
Ignatious hated being called Iggie, and Thomas knew it.
“Oh, I get it, Tommie. I just wanted you to say it.”
Thomas nodded to the waiter, who placed the aging check in front of him.
“Making me say it like you’re wearing a wire.” He slapped a credit card on the tray.
“A wire? That wouldn’t be good for you or me. Now how can I help you, Tommie? I wouldn’t want your income to dip below seven figures.” Ignatious swabbed at his forehead with the linen napkin. The problem with these places on the coast was that they thought dining al fresco was chic even when the weather was in the nineties. He longed for a tall one in the sixty-five degree air of the Burnt Biscuit.
Detective Toby sat at the bar of the Burnt Biscuit waiting for his contact. It was three in the afternoon, late for lunch and, in fact, the Biscuit had stopped serving an hour before. Toby drank vodka and tonic with a twist, confident the smell of booze could be hidden by a mouthful of Tic Tacs when he returned to work. He loved the Biscuit, especially liked the aromas of cigarettes mingling with food odors from the kitchen and the ever present fragrance of beer and booze which leached off the carpets. And the place was dark and cool, unlike the office he occupied with its ineffective air conditioner. He loved taking his coffee breaks here.
Dumpster Dying Page 13
