The Corpse Wore Cashmere

by Sylvia Rochester

  He might be pledged to Susan, but he wasn’t blind. And he definitely wasn’t dead. The woman was enough of a package to stir a reaction from him. A silk blouse clung to firm, taut breasts, and the slit on the side of her black skirt revealed a shapely leg. He adjusted his seat to suppress an uncomfortable tightness. “Lady, I don’t need a little help. I need a lot.”

  He pushed the button.

  Numbers whirled in the machine. The first one that stopped was a red seven. Then another red seven stopped next to it.

  “No way,” Wesley said, his eyes fixated on the last spinning number.

  The third red seven clicked into place. Three red sevens flashed on the screen, and bells sounded. A crown gathered around, anxious to see what he had won. The machine printed out a ticket. Three red sevens paid five hundred dollars.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said. “I won five—” To his dismay, his good luck charm had disappeared into the crowd.

  “Stay away from this machine,” a man said. “It won’t be hitting any more today.”

  As the people moved away, Wesley looked for the woman but couldn’t find her. He tucked the winning ticket into his shirt pocket and made his way to the restaurant. It was almost noon. Kenny Rogers’s song, “The Gambler,” had it right—the part about walking away. Wesley had no intention of losing his winnings by hoping to hit more. He wasn’t greedy.

  A shapely hostess met him at the door. “How many?” she asked.

  “Five,” Wesley replied. “I’m early. Might as well bring me a gin and tonic.”

  “A waitress will be right with you.”

  He had yet to see an average-looking woman employee, and his waitress was no exception. She returned in minutes with his drink and several menus.

  Wesley sat facing the entrance so he could keep an eye out for Susan. Thinking about his winnings put an ear-to-ear grin across his face. Then he realized how stupid he must look, sitting alone and grinning like the Cheshire cat. He dropped his head and studied the menu. When someone touched his shoulder, he looked up. There stood his magic charm.

  “Where’d you go? I wanted to thank you,” he said.

  “I don’t particularly like crowds. I’m glad you won.”

  Wesley noticed Susan, A. K., and Jack entering the restaurant. Dylan followed a few steps behind. Susan’s frown suggested she was either confused or mad about something. He stood and pulled out a chair for her.

  “This is Susan, A. K. and Jack,” he said to the stranger. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”

  Dylan reached the table as the others took their seats. He never took his eyes off the woman, and his stare was intense enough to ignite a fire. “She’s Betty Sue Halsey, my ex-wife. Where’s Randy, Betty Sue?”

  If Dylan was attempting to fluster his ex, he didn’t succeed. Betty Sue showed no sign of being upset. In fact, she seemed totally disinterested in Dylan. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I’ve tried but can’t locate him. He’s my most sought-after male escort, and every night he’s not available costs me money.” She knitted her brow, wrinkling what was otherwise a flawless complexion. “Why are you interested in him?”

  “Knock it off,” Dylan growled. “Nothing happens here that you don’t know about.”

  “Well, I did hear rumors that a warrant was issued for his arrest, but you can’t believe everything you hear. Randy’s never been violent. He’s rather accustomed to his lifestyle—being pampered by rich women who lavish him with gifts.”

  “Who are you trying to fool? I don’t care that he’s into his job. He works for you, and that means he’s one of your puppets.”

  “We obviously see things differently.” She cut her eyes at Wesley. “I just happened to run into your friend in the casino and wished him luck.”

  If she was lying, she did it with the ease of an accomplished actress.

  “You don’t leave anything to chance,” Dylan said. “I’m sure you knew who Wesley was and where to find him. In fact, you probably know something about everyone here.”

  She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as if to admonish him. “Always the suspicious mind, huh, Dylan?” Smoothing the front of her green silk blouse, she batted her eyes at Wesley. “I’m late for an engagement, so I’d better be on my way. Nice meeting y’all.” She squeezed Wesley’s shoulder in passing. “A little luck for your next trip to the casino.” As she sashayed out the restaurant, her stiletto heels tapped against the tiles, turning more than a few heads.

  Although Wesley had done nothing wrong, he sure felt guilty. Had he been used? Can I step in it or what? Susan’s red cheeks looked about ten degrees past boiling. Fortunately, her anger wasn’t directed at him.

  “She reminds me of a tigress stalking her prey,” Susan said. “I’d be willing to bet the woman has retractable claws.”

  “And there’s more of her kind out there than you can imagine,” A. K. said. “Dylan, you’re lucky to be rid of her.”

  Sitting next to Wesley, Susan slipped her arm around his. “If she is mixed up in this, I’d be willing to bet she wanted to weasel information from you?”

  “I don’t know about that. The only thing she did was touch my hand. She claimed that seemed to bring people good luck.”

  “Bull! Trust me. Nothing good comes from that woman,” Dylan said as he eyed her exit. “I wondered when she’d make her appearance. Don’t any of you trust her…not for a second.”

  Wesley pulled the casino ticket from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Well, something worked in my favor.”

  Susan picked up the printout. “Five hundred dollars! That’s great, but I don’t think Betty Sue had anything to do with your winning. It was just your time. Had you lost, she probably wouldn’t have showed up here.”

  Dylan drained his water glass. “Oh, yes, she would. She’d never pass up a chance to make me miserable. This isn’t the first time members of her agency have been questioned in connection with criminal activities, but somehow she always manages to stay one step ahead of the law. You can’t win when you’re fighting the devil. I’ll be glad when we head back to Louisiana.”

  Jack had his arm around the back of A. K.’s chair. He picked up his water glass with his free hand and made a toast. “Regardless of the outcome, here’s to a quick resolution of the case and return to Palmetto.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” A. K. said.

  “What you say we bury the shop talk and enjoy our meal together,” Wesley said.

  “I’ll drink to that, too,” A. K. said. “Heck, I’ll drink to anything.”

  Everyone laughed, and the tension resulting from Betty Sue’s appearance seemed to vanish.

  All through the meal, Wesley couldn’t keep his eyes off Susan. It felt so right having her beside him. Even with all that was going on, he was glad to have her close. They carried on a silent conversation with little nudges and quick glances at one another. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was ready for a serious conversation about their future. He certainly was, but he didn’t want to spoil what they had. His job still presented a problem.

  Wesley looked up to see Dylan’s father, Chief Vernon Powell, crossing the restaurant. The stern look on his face suggested his visit was strictly business. Kerry followed him.

  “Your dad’s here, Dylan,” Wesley said, standing to greet him. “Tell me you found him.” All eyes at the table stared at the elderly man.

  “I wish. But I have a warrant to search his boat. It took Kerry a while to locate the craft. I thought you and Dylan might want to be there. Of course, you can’t board the vessel, but you can watch from the pier.”

  Dylan was definitely cut from the same mold as his father—same blue eyes and blond hair, only his dad’s hair was streaked with gray and much thinner. Chief Powell stood a few inches shorter than Dylan, but his broad shoulders and slim waist suggested a physically fit specimen for a man his age.

  “You bet we want to go,” Wesley said, pushing up from his chair.


  Dylan also got to his feet. “Dad, let me introduce you to my friends.”

  Chief Powell shook hands with everyone, pausing to give Susan a studied look. “I’ve heard a lot about you, little lady.”

  “All good, I hope.”

  “It is, if my boy can be believed.” His wide grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Well, are you gentlemen ready?”

  “After you,” Wesley said then turned his attention to Susan. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “You’d better. I can’t wait to hear the results.”

  Wesley and Dylan followed Sheriff Powel and Kerry out of the restaurant.

  The ride to Gulfport took less than a half hour. Chief Powell and Kerry led the way in their marked unit. Wesley and Dylan rode in their own vehicle. Instead of taking the interstate, Chief Powell took the coastal highway. The white sand beaches and gentle waves of the Gulf were a beautiful sight, but Wesley couldn’t stop thinking about Randy. Had he left the state or was he still in the vicinity? He found it hard to imagine Randy could remain out of sight for long in such a small community.

  When they approached the outskirts of Gulfport, the sheriff turned into the Seaside Marina. Wesley pulled in alongside them. Several long piers moored a variety of boats, all long and wide enough to handle offshore seas. Cars and trailers filled the parking lot. Near the launch, a bar and restaurant advertised cold beer, bait, and burgers. The overall appearance was a safe haven against storms.

  “Surely they have his boat cordoned off, huh?” Wesley asked.

  “You’d think,” Dylan replied.

  “This way,” Chief Powell said, motioning for them to follow him. He stepped up onto a wooden walkway that fronted the piers. When they reached the fourth pier, he stopped.

  “Now I see the yellow tape,” Dylan said, pointing toward the end of the wooden structure. “I’m glad a deputy is standing watch.”

  The sheriff stopped and looked at his son in disbelief. “How many years have I been in law enforcement? You think I don’t know the procedure?”

  “Uh, sorry, Dad.”

  About halfway down, the sheriff held out his arm. “This is as far as you two go. Kerry, take the deputy on duty and conduct the search.”

  Waiting wasn’t Wesley’s strong suit. He wanted more than anything to board the boat, but he had no choice. Overhead, the sun had chased away any hint of a cool day. The rays stung his skin, much like a summer day, and the glare off the water was blinding. He stood there at the mercy of the sun as perspiration crawled down his neck.

  Across the way seagulls squawked and swooped, waiting for tidbits from patrons at the restaurant. Every so often someone would toss a morsel into the air, and the birds would race to capture it. The marina was a combination of smells. The smell of burgers on the kitchen grill mingled with the smell of gasoline from boats idling beneath the establishment’s outside decks. Overall, the place looked like a good place to eat and down a few cold ones after a long day of fishing.

  Wesley checked his watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed. It seemed much longer.

  Dylan shuffled his feet, obviously anxious for the search to end too. “There he is.”

  Kerry and the deputy exited the boat and headed their way. “I think I found what you need.” He held out a plastic evidence bag, and a smile crossed his face.

  A feeling of relief washed over Wesley. It lasted about ten seconds.

  The boat exploded with a force that sent a fireball into the air. Plumes of black smoke billowed from the burning craft as pieces of the boat rained down on the pier.

  Chapter 10

  “Get down,” Dylan shouted as he lunged for his dad.

  The blast threw Kerry and the deputy face first onto the wooden deck. Instinctively, they covered their heads with their hands. Pieces of burning debris rained down around them.

  Dylan dragged his dad down and used his body to shield Chief Powell. Wesley hit the deck next to them, giving added protection against chunks of fiberglass and pieces of metal that hurled past them like missiles. Black smoke billowed from the burning craft and drifted across the end of the pier. Kerry and the deputy disappeared from view.

  “Have mercy,” Chief Powell said, raising his head. “Help my men.”

  Wesley and Dylan raced down the pier, sidestepping debris from the boat. The caustic smell of burnt fiberglass and other materials engulfed them. Kerry lay moaning.

  “You okay?” Wesley asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Where’s the evidence?” Wesley made no attempt to hide his panic. Without it they would have nothing. He kneeled beside Kerry, who now was coughing and struggling to get to his feet. Wesley grabbed his arm and helped steady him while Dylan assisted the other deputy.

  Clutched tightly in Kerry’s hand was the evidence bag. “I wasn’t about to turn loose of this baby,” he said, holding it so Wesley could see its contents. The plastic slip contained a couple of strands of light brown hair. “I also found traces of blood.” He pulled out a sealed vial from his shirt pocket. Inside was a cotton swab. “Luminol did the trick. Don’t know if it’s human or fish, but we’ll find out. If the DNA matches your murder victim, Randy is toast.”

  “I saw where the boat had a mount for a GPS, but it wasn’t there. By now, he’s probably destroyed the device. It would have left a blueprint to the murder scene and back.”

  “I guess he figured with no evidence, he’d have a chance to beat any charges,” Wesley said. “And if he’d been a little faster in destroying his boat, he just might have succeeded. You and the deputy are lucky. You escaped death by only a few seconds.”

  “Is the chief okay?” Kerry asked.

  “Yes, we kept him covered,” Dylan said. “He might be bruised and scraped, but that’s a small price to pay for…” Dylan looked down the pier where he had left his dad and suddenly broke into a run. “Dad,” he shouted. Chief Powell dropped to his knees and crumpled onto the wooden deck.

  Kerry hit his shoulder mike. “Chief’s down at the Silver Side Marina. Get a wagon here now!”

  Dylan turned his father over.

  Except for the brush burn that covered Chief Powell’s forehead, there didn’t appear to be any other visible signs of injury, but his normally robust complexion had lost all color. His skin had turned ashen and his lips blue. Between shallow breaths, he eked out the word, “Pain,” and clutched his chest.

  “Hold on, Dad. Help’s on the way.”

  Wesley knelt beside Dylan and both offered words of encouragement. “You’re going to be okay,” Wesley said. But was he? Times like these made one realize the uncertainty of life. No one had seen this coming. One minute this man was full of vitality and directing the operation. The next, he was fighting for his life.

  The seconds seemed like hours. “Where are they?” Dylan asked, looking toward the highway.

  Kerry grimaced and dug a finger in his ear. “They’re on the way.”

  “You okay?” Wesley asked.

  “Yeah, except my ears won’t stop ringing.”

  “Mine too,” the other deputy said, tugging at his ear.

  A marked patrol car barreled up to the pier, its lights flashing. The sound of another siren wailed in the distance. By the time the deputies exited their unit, the ambulance had arrived. One of the deputies ran toward them. Two paramedics also ran toward them. The other deputy stayed and stopped the crowd that was hurrying over from the restaurant.

  Chief Powell swallowed hard and looked up at Kerry. “If you hadn’t gotten off that boat….” His eyes watered. “Dang smoke.”

  Wesley knew better. It wasn’t the smoke that brought tears to the old man’s eyes. Dylan’s dad was like a father figure to his men.

  “Don’t talk, Dad. The medics are here now.”

  Dylan stepped back to give the paramedics room.

  “What happened?” a medic asked as he knelt beside the chief.

  “There was an explosion, and he collapsed,” Dylan said, nervously shifting his wei
ght from one foot to the other. “I think it’s his heart.”

  “Give us some room,” the paramedic said. As he opened his kit, everyone stepped back. The medic checked the chief’s pulse, his eyes, and listened to his heart, while the other medic gave him oxygen, started an I.V., and strapped on a blood pressure cuff.

  “I’m his son. Dylan.” His words came fast through clenched teeth as he stood looking down at his father.

  “Does he have a history of heart problems?” the medic asked.

  “He’s had A-fib for years and is on Coumadin.”

  The attendant turned to his partner. “Get the board and let Bayside General know we’re transporting a cardiac patient.”

  “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Dylan asked.

  Chief Powell gave a thumbs-up to Dylan. But Wesley could tell from the man’s color and the weakness in his voice that his condition wasn’t as good as he made it out to be.

  “Try to relax, sir,” the paramedic said. “You’re going to be just fine. We’ll have you at the hospital in no time.” As the medic rechecked the patient’s blood pressure, he glanced down the pier at the burning boat. “Anyone else I should examine?”

  “No, we’re good,” Kerry said, “except for a few scratches.”

  The medics slipped the board under the sheriff and grabbed the ends. Dylan and Wesley held on to the sides and helped carry the sheriff to the ambulance.

  “I’m going with him,” Dylan said.

  The paramedic frowned.

  “It’s okay,” Kerry said.

  Once the paramedics had Chief Powell secured in the ambulance, Dylan climbed in beside his dad.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Wesley said.

  The ambulance rolled through the parking lot and onto the highway.

  “Okay, folks,” Kerry said to the crowd, “there’s nothing more to see here. You best be on your way.”

  As the crowd dispersed, Kerry ordered two deputies to cordon off the pier. “I called in the bomb squad. Maybe they can find something that’ll help us,” he said to Wesley. “I’m guessing Randy used a disposable cell phone for the detonator. He’d want to be somewhere else when it blew so he could establish an alibi. Clever…much too clever for Randy.”