by Amy Vansant
“But what if you were a killer who scratched that itch by becoming a hitman, and then you had to go into witness protection? Maybe you’d have to find another way to deal with your urges.”
Declan shrugged. “Maybe. A hit man who only worked before storms would be pretty useless, though.”
There was a knock on the door and before Charlotte could answer, Mariska entered holding a giant frozen pork shoulder in her hands. Abby ran over to say hello.
“Charlotte, can I put this in your freezer—” She stopped, spotting Declan in a towel, her mouth shaping into a perfect ‘O’. “Oh I’m sorry—” She twirled on her heel.
Charlotte rushed to stop her before she could run out of the house. “It’s okay. He fell in a lake. I’m drying his clothes.”
“I didn’t fall in a lake,” she heard him mutter behind her.
“Oh.” Mariska smiled, a blush still on her cheeks. “Can you take this, it’s freezing my hands.”
Charlotte took the pork and dropped it in her freezer.
“Did she say you fell in a lake?” Mariska asked Declan.
“I didn’t fall—”
Charlotte intervened to change the subject. “Mariska, who would I talk to if I wanted to call together the Five Families?”
Mariska gasped. “Why would you do that?”
“There might be someone dangerous in town and I think it’s important to let the communities know.”
Mariska pressed her lips tight. “But the last time someone did that...I mean, I think Ralph still walks with a cane.”
“Who are the Five Families?” asked Declan.
“And poor Wanda,” continued Mariska, crossing herself.
Charlotte touched Mariska’s arm to pull her attention back to the present. “I know. I’ve heard the stories about Five Family meetings, but I think it’s important. We’re going to have to work together on this.”
Mariska sighed. “Penny can make it happen.”
“Wait. What happened to Wanda?” asked Declan.
“Meetings of the Five Families can be very stressful. She had a weak heart,” said Mariska.
“And the Five Families are...?”
Mariska held up a hand to tick off the list one digit at a time. “Pineapple Port, of course. Represented at the table by Penny, Terra Siesta, Silver Lake, Smillages and Canuck City.”
“Smillages?”
Charlotte hopped in to explain. “That’s a nickname for The Fairways, the golf community I was just telling you about. Back in the day the developer said it would be just like The Villages, but it turned out more like the Smillages—much less impressive.”
“Villages-smillages. Got it. So what happened that everyone is scared to have another meeting?”
Mariska rolled her eyes. “What hasn’t happened? One year someone flung a pizza slice at another representative and gave him third degree burns on his face. Wanda had a heart attack and never made it to the hospital.
“That’s awful.”
Mariska shrugged. “She was the only fatality, so far.”
“It sounds like you’ve been to one?”
“Penny took me once to act as secretary for them because the real secretary was too scared to attend.”
“You weren’t scared?”
“I told her I’d only do it if she let me sit in the room next door with a glass pressed against the wall. Good thing too. Turned out to be a real mess.”
“Why?”
“It was about adding bike paths to the town.”
Charlotte clucked her tongue. “They were fools to even try.”
Mariska nodded. “The representative from Smillages tried to take off the face of the representative from Canuck City with a parmesan grater and that was the end of that.”
“Yikes.” Declan looked at Charlotte. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She nodded. “I think it’s a good idea to warn everyone. And anyway, we’ll be there to make sure nothing happens.”
Declan sighed. “Oh good.”
Chapter Nineteen
Charlotte and Declan entered Angelo’s Pasta Pit at ten minutes to nine in the evening, thinking they’d be early to the emergency meeting of the Five Families. Only a few of the restaurant’s patrons remained at the late hour, making a bickering group of people, jostling amongst themselves against the far left wall, all the more obvious.
“Is that them already?” asked Declan.
Charlotte recognized Penny, the owner of Pineapple Port and her sister, Tabby, who owned Silver Lake, their bodies pressed against a pair of French doors Charlotte knew led to the restaurant’s meeting room. The two of them traded hip-bumps as if they were dancing, vying for the spot where the doors would split. She didn’t know the other three people in the group, all men, all shoving each other, locked in their own battle of dominance behind the ladies.
“Watch it, Billy,” snapped Tabby, pulling her attention from her sister long enough to chastise the portly man behind her, who’d been pushed into her back by a bearded man.
Billy swung an elbow into the belly of the bearded man to push him back. “Back off, Frenchie.”
The remaining customers looked over their shoulders at the boisterous group, clearly eager to get their check and leave.
The entrance door opened behind Charlotte and her neighbor, Tilly, entered with a notebook and an unimpressed look. Standing barely five feet tall, Tilly still radiated an air of command, even in her trademark billowing house dress.
Charlotte waved and motioned to the bouncing group. “Hey, Tilly. Thanks for setting this up for me. Did you take over as secretary after Mariska quit?”
“Not for free.” Tilly looked at the group and shook her head. “Everyone else they’ve ever asked to serve ended up dead or refused to come back, so they pay me to do it now.”
Charlotte could see how that would work. Tilly didn’t take guff from anyone. “Why do they look like zombies trying to get into a house?”
Tilly peered at Charlotte from beneath a lowered brow. “They all want head of the table. I’ve begged the place to put a round table in there, but they won’t do it.”
Charlotte chuckled. “They could sit at small, individual tables so each has their own island.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“But then they might fight about who’s closer to the window.”
Tilly grabbed her arm. “They haven’t even thought about proximity to the windows. Don’t say that out loud again.”
“Deal. Sorry.”
Tilly rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just these meetings get worse every time. Last time they accused me of favoring Penny in the notes because I live in Pineapple Port.”
“Do you?”
“Hell no. I can’t stand that woman. In fact, the line they thought I used to favor her was, Penny shifted and released audible gas.”
Charlotte laughed. “That doesn’t sound like favoritism.”
“You wouldn’t think so, but Jonathan from the Smillages called me up to say he remembered burping and didn’t see it in the notes.”
A flustered-looking man in a suit approached and wedged himself through the Five Family representatives to stand in front of the doors with his arms outstretched to either side.
“That’s Angelo,” murmured Tilly.
Angelo addressed the group. “I’m going to open the doors now. Please make room. Take a step back.”
The crowd did step back, but the moment Angelo turned to open the doors, they shuffled forward again like a single, angry unit.
Charlotte suspected Angelo sensed them closing in, because he flung open the doors and covered his head, twisting tight like a flower at night to avoid being trampled. The five burst into the room to play the most violent game of musical chairs Charlotte had ever seen.
Penny pulled her sister’s arm to spin her like a top and claim the head chair closest to the window. Watching their battle, Charlotte felt a strange sense of sa
tisfaction, having told herself if she could lay money on the event, her cash would be on Penny’s pointy nose.
On the opposite side of the table, the fattest of the three men used his heft to bounce another out of the way, but their collision opened a path for the third man to slide into the coveted seat.
Defeated and sour-pussed, the remaining three dropped into side chairs.
Tilly sighed. “I hope this was worth it.” She shuffled in and took an empty side seat.
Charlotte looked at Declan. “This may have been a mistake.”
Angelo uncurled from his standing fetal position. “Please, no screaming.” Shaking his head, he disappeared into the back.
“I’ll cover your back,” said Declan as he and Charlotte entered the meeting room. He sat in the corner in a spare chair. Charlotte tried to find a logical place to stand where everyone could see her, but with both the table heads claimed, she settled for standing at the corner.
“Thank you all for coming. I won’t keep you long,” she said.
“First, old business,” said Tabby. Her tone implied she was in charge.
“First, old business,” echoed the bearded man at the head of the table in a similar tone.
“Old business,” said the hefty man, snapping his fingers, to demonstrate he was really the one in charge.
“Yeah, sit down,” said a man wearing a polo with The Fairways stitched on his chest.
“Don’t talk to her like that, Jonathan,” snapped Penny. “And keep your people out of our bingo night.”
The man sneered. “Why, are we winning all your crappy little prizes?” Seemingly unhappy with his answer, he shifted gears. “Our people would never go to your bingo, anyway.”
“Yes, they would and they do because you’re too cheap to provide activities for your residents.”
Jonathan leaned across the table. “My residents golf. They don’t need bingo.”
“Old business,” barked Tilly. Charlotte was shocked to see the room settle down to listen.
Now I know who’s really in charge.
Tilly cleared her throat and continued.
“Last meeting, Terra Siesta requested a motion to force Canuck City residents to tip a minimum of twenty percent at local restaurants. Lucien asked me to put it on record the motion offended both him and the residents of Canuck City, and that Terra Siesta were a bunch of mouth-breathing animals.”
Charlotte looked at Declan and mouthed the words yikes. He covered his mouth, but she could see his body shaking with laughter.
The man Charlotte guessed to be Lucian held up a closed fist. “Dees came out of nowhere. Eet is a myth that French Canadians are bad tippers.”
The other four at the table expelled synchronized scoffs.
Lucien stood and poked a finger in the air. “Eet ees not true!”
“Sit down, Lucien. You know the rules,” said Tilly.
Lucien pouted and lowered himself into his chair.
Tilly continued.
“Motion was passed.”
“You cannot enforce,” mumbled Lucien.
“Silver Lake shared fifty-three photos of Pineapple Port residents playing pickle ball on Silver Lake courts and demanded restitution for scuff marks on aforementioned courts.”
“We have our own tennis courts,” said Penny, staring holes through her sister.
Tabby rolled her eyes. “Your people cross the street like a herd of cattle, trampling our courts with their off-brand sneakers because I was smart enough to plant shade trees around the courts and install a soda machine. Playing on your courts is like being a tennis-playing ant under a kid’s magnifying glass.” She sniffed.
From her spot at the head of the table, Penny leaned forward until her nose nearly touched Tabby’s. “Then use the money from your overpriced sodas to clean the courts, Pussy.”
Charlotte winced. She’d forgotten Penny referred to Tabby as Pussy Galore as a riff on her sister’s feline-inspired name. Tabby had made the mistake of letting on she hated the nickname, so it stuck.
Tabby crossed her arms against her chest and leaned back to create some distance from Penny’s hawkish nose. “The photos clearly show non-white-bottom shoes on known Pineapple Port residents.”
Tilly interrupted before Penny could respond. “Motion was passed. Penny was ordered to pay.”
Penny sniffed. “Ridiculous. Install locks if you want to keep us out.”
“There are locks, but your people sneak in like rats.”
“I thought we were ants? Make up your mind.”
“You’re both!” Tabby hissed the words like an angry cat and Charlotte noted the irony.
Tilly rubbed her forehead as if suffering from a building headache. “Tell you what. Since this is an emergency meeting requested by Charlotte, let’s let her talk and end this.”
The hefty man tilted back his chair, straining to see into the main restaurant. “Is there pizza coming?”
“You could use a day off, Hector,” muttered Jonathan. Lucian snickered.
Tilly motioned for Charlotte to take the floor and she stepped forward again, standing beside Tilly where she thought she’d be safest.
“Thank you. I’ll make this quick. I wanted you all to know I have reason to believe there is someone in the area killing people and making it look like an accident.”
“Like a serial killer?” asked Hector.
“Yes, something like—”
The room erupted with laughter and Charlotte frowned.
I’m so glad they all agree on something. I’m an idiot.
Lucien pulled at his beard. “You called us here to tell us there is a serial keeller on the loose?”
Charlotte pointed to Jonathan. “He knows.”
Jonathan poked The Fairways logo on his shirt. “Me? What are you talking about?”
“The man who died in his garage in your community. That was a suspicious death.”
Jonathan’s facial features twisted as if he smelled something bad. “No, it wasn’t. I mean, it’s a tragedy, but Steve wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree. No one is shocked he suffocated himself.”
“But—”
Before Charlotte could argue, Angelo appeared with a server at his elbow. The server placed a glass of red wine in front of each member of the party while Angelo dealt slices of pizza like playing cards.
Tilly leaned toward Charlotte. “He has to make sure there is the same number of pepperonis on each slice and that the pours are identical.”
Charlotte watched as the five scanned the table, ensuring they hadn’t been short changed a pepperoni.
“They’re like children.”
“Worse. At least kids you can smack,” said Tilly.
“Yeah, wait, no—” Charlotte did a double take. “You can’t—”
Tilly cut her short to address the table. “Go ahead and eat but listen to Charlotte.”
The group nodded, chewing. It seemed pizza did have the power to shut them up.
Charlotte took a deep breath and started again. “Look. There’s one theory this killer—”
“If there is one,” interjected Tabby.
“—If there is one, they’re targeting people hoarding for the storm. All I’m asking is please be vigilant with whatever cameras or security surveillance you have in place. Don’t let strangers into the neighborhoods unless you know why they’re there, and tell people to keep their garages shut and their doors locked.”
“And for how long are we supposed to do all this?” asked Lucien, dabbing some grease from his beard.
Charlotte frowned. “I’m not sure. At least until after the storm. If you see something suspicious, let Sheriff Frank know.”
“This is stuff you should be doing all the time, frankly,” added Tilly.
“Sure, great, will do,” said Penny standing. The others realized she was leaving and leapt to their feet to beat her out of the room.
Lucien made it out first, so Penny paused by Charlotte, making it clear she’d never
had any intention on being the first out the room. Jonathan remained seated, finishing his wine. He set down his glass and grabbed Lucian’s half-finished glass.
“What kind of Frenchman doesn’t finish his wine?” he asked. “Faker.”
Penny ignored him and scowled at Charlotte. “So you’re the one spreading the rumor Ted’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“I’m not spreading any rumors.”
“He fell off a ladder. They found him right there, at the bottom of a ladder.”
“There’s evidence someone hit him with a brick and staged everything to look like an accident.”
“Do you know what this could do to the Port’s reputation? Who wants to live in a murdery neighborhood?”
“I’m sorry, Penny. I didn’t make it up. We can’t just pretend it’s an accident when it’s not.”
Penny sneered. “We. Listen to you. You’re not the police.”
“No, but you can talk to Frank. He saw the same things I did.”
Penny picked up her purse. “Between you two and our stupid paper...they report everything wrong.”
“What did they get wrong?”
“They said his housekeeper found him. That’s a total fabrication.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Did you know Ted?”
“No.”
“The man was an ex-Marine. Clean as a pin. He never had a housekeeper—he couldn’t trust them to keep things the way he liked them.”
Charlotte rolled this new information around in her head. Had she heard it wrong? Corentine did say she was the housekeeper, didn’t she?
She touched Penny’s arm to slow her retreat. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. His wife used to complain about how anal he was all the time.”
“Then who was that woman?”
Penny shrugged and headed out of the room. “I don’t know. You’re the detective. But I can tell you it wasn’t his housekeeper.”
Tilly caught Charlotte’s eye as they strolled toward the exit. “Hey, you should talk to Gryph. He’s got a drone club. They could do a little surveillance from the sky for you. The neighborhoods could pay.”
Charlotte nodded. “That’s a great idea. If everyone pitched in—”
