by Carolina Mac
Annie repeated the line she had used in all the other offices up to this point. “I’m trying to find my sister, Renee Endicott. She came down here on vacation and I know she told me she rented a place in San Carlos, but I didn’t write it down.” Annie shrugged for effect. “Never dreaming that Mom would fall and get hurt so bad, I need my sister to come home and help me take care of our mother when she gets home from the hospital.”
“The name sounds familiar,” said Martin, “Let me check for you. He typed in a few keystrokes and nodded his head. “Uh huh. Here she is. At Maria Beach. I rented her the McCall house.”
“Fantastic,” said Annie, laying her best sexy smile on the guy. “Could you make me a little map? She’s going to be so excited to see me.”
Martin grinned at Annie and nodded like a bobble-head.
Farrell hated nothing in life as much as men coming onto Annie. He thought he might puke.
RENEE logged onto the computer in front of her and brought up her email hoping there was something from Appleton. She needed the insurance money to buy a place down here. Her house in Austin was in Max’s name and would be tied up in the probate of the will. After it came to her, it would take a while to sell and it might be months before she received the money from it.
She glanced through the emails and there it was. One from Larry. She clicked on it.
“Renee, I know what you’re doing, and I can help you. Because I work in Blaine Blackmore’s legal firm, I have an inside track to what the police are doing. In return for saving your skin, I’m keeping Max’s insurance money. All of it. I’ve already advised the company not to deposit the money into your account because of legal issues. They are sending the check to me.”
Renee could feel the prickles on the back of her neck and she fought to keep from screaming out loud. She hoped nobody noticed. She glanced around, and nobody was looking at her, they were all staring at their own screens. When she was calm enough and her hands had stopped shaking, she typed a message.
“You can’t do that, Larry. You can’t cash the check. That’s fraud. That’s my money and you won’t get away with it.”
“Sure I will. We both know you can’t call the police. But I’m going to be fair, I’m giving you something in return.”
“What’s worth that kind of money?”
“A two million dollar warning. Blaine Blackmore is on his way to Panama to arrest you. I’m giving you a chance to leave wherever you are and get away.”
“They have nothing to arrest me for. Nothing. I’ll kill you for this, Larry. You’ll be sorry you ever messed with me.”
“Just like you killed Max?”
Renee deleted the email, shut down the computer and tore out the door.
BLAINE followed Renee outside and glanced at the rental car she jumped into—a white Toyota. He typed the tag number into his phone. Annie wasn’t parked out front and she wasn’t in the parking lot at the side of the building. “Goddammit, where the hell are they?” Taking refuge in a sliver of shade next to the building, he texted as Renee disappeared around the corner.
“Where are you guys?”
“Coming now. We got the info.”
Five minutes later, Annie pulled up to the curb and Blaine hopped in the back of the truck. “She was here, and she took off. Damn it. I should have cuffed her when I had the chance.”
“Why didn’t you, boss?”
“I wanted to talk to her first,” said Blaine, “and I didn’t want to do it in a public place. If I could talk her into coming home on her own it would be a thousand times easier. We wouldn’t have to go through the extradition shit.”
“It’s all good,” said Annie, “we know where her rental house is. Show him the map, sugar pop.”
Farrell passed the map over the console to Blaine.
“On the beach, only a few miles from here.”
“Let’s go get her,” said Farrell. “Almost time for my trip to the bar at the beach.”
Renee’s Rental on Maria Beach.
ANNIE parked across the road. “She should have been here ahead of us.”
“Should have been,” said Blaine, “We were only about five or ten minutes behind her.
“She might have stopped for groceries,” said Farrell. “I’m gonna walk through to the beach and take a look out back.” There was a wide space between Renee’s rental and the house next to her. Between the houses there was with a clear view of the beach and the ocean beyond.
“Sure,” said Blaine, “go ahead. We’ll watch the front.”
Darkness fell shortly after six-thirty like it did at the Equator—equal days and nights all year long. Still no Renee.
“Think she trigged into us being here and booked it?” asked Farrell.
“Something happened,” said Blaine, “and I don’t think it was me. She never even glanced at me. I think it was a message she got at the café. Her face was red when she bolted out of there on the run.”
“Maybe she found out her mother was hurt and went home to help her dad,” said Annie.
“That would have been the proper thing to do,” said Blaine. “But Renee isn’t that type of person. From what I’ve learned about her, she’s all about Renee. Besides her selfish side, I get the feeling she’s unstable—and unstable spells irrational behavior.” Blaine shook his long black hair. “Nope, I don’t think she was talking online to her father, I think it was somebody else. I just don’t know who or what set her off.”
The three of them stood on the beach behind Renee’s house staring at the ocean and watching the moonlight dance across the waves. A warm breeze blew Blaine’s long hair across his face as he smoked. He brushed it away and wondered what their next move should be.
Out of the darkness, a tall man dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt strode up to them. “Have you seen Renee?” he asked. “I knocked on her door and called her cell and nothing. We were supposed to have dinner.”
“We’ve been waiting for her,” said Blaine, “but she didn’t come home.”
“Can I ask who you are?” said the man. “I’ve only known Renee a couple of days and I don’t know any of her friends.”
“We’re from the police,” said Blaine. “I need to speak to her about something.”
“And by your accent, I’d say you were from the states.”
“If you see her, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention seeing us.”
“And why exactly would I do favors for the police?”
Blaine turned and said, “Looks like you’ll be dining alone. To Annie and Farrell: “It’s time we went back to our hotel.”
Golfo de Panama Hotel. San Carlos.
AFTER enjoying a late dinner on the patio at their hotel, Farrell wanted to check out the bar on the beach. A band had begun playing and the music and laughter of happy people on vacation drew others like a magnet. Farrell had been drinking harder since the Mary breakup, but it didn’t seem to help his disposition any.
All the tables were packed when they arrived, and they had to be content with stools at the bar.
“Get you folks a drink?” asked the bartender. Not a native, but a blond surfer type with long curly hair.
“I’ll have one in a coconut,” said Farrell.
“Pick one.” The busy bartender pointed a finger upward at a long list on a chalkboard above his head. He snapped opened cans of beer and made drinks without pause.
“Mojito,” said Farrell. “Heard of it, but never had one.”
“Rum, mint and lime are the main ingredients. You’ll like it.” The bartender was quick, and Farrell had his drink in front of him in no time flat. “How about you, beautiful lady?” Surfer dude gave Annie the eye.
“I’ll have an Atlas.”
“Aha, a gorgeous beer drinking woman. I’m in love.”
Blaine and Farrell glared.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday, September 21st.
Renee’s Beach House.
WITHOUT coffee or breakfast, Blaine and
Farrell left Annie sleeping and drove to Renee’s rented house just after six a.m. hoping to catch her before she got out of bed.
“Car still ain’t here,” said Farrell. “She never came back. Think she’s in the wind?”
“Yep, I’m sure of it now. Let’s take a look inside before we leave.”
Farrell had the back door open in seconds and they were in. One bedroom painted pale blue: the queen-sized bed unmade, clothes strewn all around, makeup all over the dresser, a suitcase open on the chair half-unpacked, two dresses on hangers in the closet, a pair of sandals on the floor.
“She was messy,” said Farrell, a neat-freak himself.
“Yep, not a housekeeper.”
Kitchen painted bright yellow: dishes piled in the sink, unopened yogurt and half a carton of orange juice in the fridge, note pad on the table with a pen beside it. Page torn off leaving a ragged edge.
“She made a list,” said Blaine. He took the pad to the window to try to read the impression. “Grocery list.”
Living Room, pale green with one landscape print on the wall: wine glasses on the coffee table beside an empty bottle of Chardonnay. Two paperbacks on the sofa on top of a tourist guide to Panama.
“Nothing here,” said Blaine. “She didn’t come back because there wasn’t much to risk coming back for.”
Golfo de Panama Hotel. San Carlos.
ANNIE had showered and dressed while the boys were gone, then ordered breakfast from room service. The waiter arrived with the cart seconds before the boys returned from their trip to Renee’s beach house. “Was she there?”
Blaine shook his head as he poured himself a coffee. “Nope. I think she went back home. Whoever she was communicating with at the internet café, pushed her buttons and freaked her out.”
Farrell shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth and asked, “Does that mean we’re checking out?”
Blaine nodded. “Let’s see if we can get a flight.”
Panama City. Panama.
IT was after one o’clock by the time they drove back to Panama City from San Carlos. Their flight was at three forty-five and they still had to fight their way through an hour of unruly traffic—honking horns and darting taxis—pedestrians on the sidewalk flagging cabs that stopped on a dime and never thought of signaling. The snarl of traffic was the norm in Panama City and something you didn’t get used to overnight.
Once they reached Tocumen, Annie turned the truck in to the rental counter while Blaine checked their luggage through and printed the boarding passes.
A voice came over the loud speaker and announced their boarding call as they approached the gate.
“That was close,” said Annie.
“We don’t have to sit around and get nervous,” said Farrell. “That’s the good part.”
Austin-Bergstrom Airport. Austin.
BLAINE checked the time on his phone as Farrell loaded the luggage into the back of the truck. Almost nine o’clock. It had taken all day to get home.
Wonder where Renee is?
“I think you’re behind on your meds, sweetheart,” Annie said from the back seat. “We didn’t have time for dinner and you didn’t take them.”
“I have pain now,” said Blaine. “I notice when the pills wear off, but overall, I think my arm is better than it was.”
Blaine’s cell rang as Annie slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Screen said Austin Homicide.
“Lieutenant Lopez, we haven’t spoken for a while.”
“Hasn’t been that long, kid. Murder doesn’t take a vacay.” Lopez sounded tired. “Have some news for you.”
“Hope it’s good news.”
“What kind of good news could y’all get from homicide?” Lopez huffed out a chuckle. “Nope. Not all that good. One of your lawyer boys got himself dead. A neighbor found him in his condo about an hour ago.”
“Who?”
“Lawrence Appleton.”
“Oh, shit,” said Blaine, “give me the address.”
“Who’s dead, bro?” asked Farrell as Annie wheeled onto the highway.
“Larry Appleton.”
Annie inhaled a little breath. “He handled most of my real estate transactions over the years.”
“My brain’s telling me that Renee raced back here and killed him,” said Blaine. “But why would she? Doesn’t make a lick of sense. He was her lawyer.”
“Jesus, boss,” said Farrell, “I think you’ve got a loose wire somewhere. My brain didn’t tell me that at all.”
“Maybe it’s unrelated,” said Annie. “Could have been a robbery.”
“Too much of a coincidence for me,” said Blaine. “He was Renee’s lawyer. Maybe…”
“Maybe, nothing,” said Farrell. “You need something solid—like evidence. We had nothing solid on Renee doing the dentist. No gun. We couldn’t place her in the cabin. Zip—fuckin zip. Look how that turned out. Chasing her to the fuckin Equator and back.”
“I get it,” said Blaine, “it seems like a waste of time to us right now, but I believe I was right. She killed her husband and it was premeditated. I still believe it.”
“Call and find out if she went home to see the rug rats,” said Farrell.
“Yeah, I’ll call her Daddy.”
Blaine scrolled up to Bill Moffat’s contact number and pressed it. “Mr. Moffatt, it’s Blaine Blackmore calling. I was wondering if you’d heard from your daughter?”
“Yes, Mr. Blackmore, wonderful news. Renee came home last night. The girls were already sleeping so she didn’t take them, but she arranged for a nanny to help me and the woman came this morning.”
“That’s great news, sir. Is Renee home to stay?”
“She has a few things to take care of wrapping up Max’s estate and his dental practice. That’s why she hired the nanny for a week. Then she’ll take the girls home.”
“Do you know where she is now?” asked Blaine.
“At home, I imagine. She was exhausted and needed sleep. She’s been through a lot.”
“Thank you, sir.” Blaine pressed end and glanced over at Farrell.
“Where is she?” asked Farrell.
“Her father thinks she’s at home.”
“Doubt it,” said Farrell, “but I’ll send Jack to watch the house while we go to the crime scene.”
Larry Appleton’s Condo. West Austin.
AFTER Annie dropped them off at Blaine’s to pick up his truck, Farrell drove north on Lake Austin Boulevard. When he arrived at the condo complex there was no doubt which unit belonged to Appleton.
The place was surrounded with squad cars, media vans, the crime scene unit, the ME’s SUV, unmarked detective units and yards of yellow tape. Officers milled about on the sidewalk keeping the media and the public at bay.
Inside, there was a log-jam in the front entryway. Lopez spotted Blaine and moved uniforms out of the way to let him and Farrell through. “Your employee is in the kitchen, kid,” said Lopez. His suit jacket had been removed and he was working in shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of blue latex gloves.
Larry Appleton lay sprawled across the ceramic tile floor, a small caliber bullet hole through his right eye. An unopened bottle of Texas bourbon on the floor next to him. A little blood seepage under his head from the wound but not much.
Doctor Mort Simon was examining the body, making verbal comments and Tim, his assistant, was taking notes. Mort glanced up at Blaine and smiled. “One less crook at Powell and Associates.”
“Hey, Mort, that ain’t any way to talk.”
“I think he was beaned with the bourbon, then shot when he was down,” said Mort. “Big lump on the back of his head and a downward trajectory.”
“Yep, be easier for a woman to do it that way,” said Blaine.
Lopez raised a black eyebrow. “Woman?”
Farrell rolled his eyes.
“Let’s get him out of here,” said Mort. Tim produced a body bag and spread it out on the floor.
“Any
sign of the weapon?” asked Farrell.
Lopez shook his head. “Guess she put it back in her purse. Blacky thinks it was a woman and that’s good enough for me. Years of experience have taught me to ride the same bus as the kid. He’s always right.”
Blacky grinned at Lopez. “Until I’m not.”
“Yep, until you’re not.”
“Let’s check out Larry’s digs,” said Farrell. “See what made the ugly prick tick.”
Only a couple of uniforms lurked in the small living room at the front of the condo. Simple furnishings. Brown leather sofa and matching chair. Flat screen on the wall. Glass coffee table stacked with piles of paper print-outs.
Farrell picked one up. “What the hell are these?”
Blaine glanced over his shoulder. “Racing forms, and by the number of them, Larry must have been a regular bettor. Find out who his bookie was, bro and see how much he owed. This might have been about juice if he was a big gambler.”
“Think he owed somebody who wanted to get paid?”
“Possibility, if it wasn’t Renee. And I’m still voting for her.”
“I’m fixing to run with the loan shark,” said Farrell, “just to make it interesting.”
“You do that,” Blaine smirked at his brother. “How much?”
“I can afford to lose fifty.”
“You’re on.”
The second bedroom Larry used as a home office. Desk, credenza, computer, a few file folders on the desk. One of the lab techs was cataloging the items she was taking.
“Let me know if there’s hot stuff on his computer, Melanie,” said Blaine.
She winked at him. “You know it.”
Nothing was out of place in the master bedroom. Unmade bed, a few clothes in the hamper.
“Look at all these on the dresser,” said Farrell. “Must be hundreds of the fuckers.”
“What fuckers?” Blaine’s head was in the closet.
“Lottery tickets.”
“I think Mr. Appleton had a problem he was keeping under wraps,” said Blaine. “I need to get to the office and pick up his work computer.”
