by Mary Ellis
Suddenly, Liam’s fog cleared. John Henry Holliday was the famed gunslinger known as Doc, sidekick to Wyatt Earp, who practiced dentistry in Atlanta. The ringleader of their merry band of thieves had idolized the on-screen version played by Val Kilmer in Tombstone. The guy must have watched that movie a dozen times and could mimic Kilmer’s accent perfectly.
‘Well?’ demanded Gage impatiently. ‘You wanna see him or not?’
‘Sure, I remember that cousin now. On my mother’s side. Thanks.’
Grunting, Gage led him to the indoor visitation space, a near duplicate of the outdoor area, minus the fresh air. When Liam sought a familiar face among the visitors sitting alone, he almost didn’t recognize their former fearless leader. The brash, blustery punk who loved fast cars, redheads, and Mexican food looked much older than he was. His once fleshy frame had deteriorated into angular bones covered by jaundiced skin and stringy, thinning hair. The man’s life on the outside certainly hadn’t included health clubs, good hygiene, or nutritious meals.
‘Charley Crump … as I live and breathe,’ murmured Liam as he sat down on the opposite bench. ‘John Henry Holliday from Atlanta, Georgia – what a clever touch.’
‘I thought you would appreciate that.’ When Crump smiled, he revealed an appalling lack of dental work, which would have dishonored his chosen namesake. ‘Look at you, Weller, all bulked up. Must be doin’ some serious weightlifting.’
‘Weaklings don’t live long in here.’ Liam folded his hands on the table. ‘To what do I owe this rare pleasure after sixteen years?’
Crump’s grin faded. ‘Thought I should pay you a little social call.’ He glanced nervously around the room at families and inmates, all minding their own business. ‘Rumor has it your airheaded little sister has been comin’ round.’
Liam’s hackles rose. ‘That little airhead finished college with honors. If my memory serves, you never got past the tenth grade.’
‘If she’s so smart, she’d know it ain’t safe sticking her nose into other people’s business.’ Crump’s sneer gave him a rat-like appearance.
Liam grabbed his shirt, tearing the worn fabric without effort. ‘You the creep bothering my sister?’
Crump tried to pull away but only widened the tear. ‘Hey, you ripped my shirt. You owe me ten bucks. Let go, or I’ll yell for the guard.’
Liam released his hold. ‘Stay away from Katie. I have people on the outside who will happily tear your face to match your shirt.’ It was a lie, but he didn’t have many motivational options.
‘You got this all wrong. I ain’t the one threatening Katie, and I sure didn’t blow up anybody’s car.’ Crump dropped his voice to a whisper.
Liam’s blood turned to ice water in his veins. ‘You knew about the car blowing up?’
‘Heard through the grapevine. I guess it belonged to her boyfriend. Exploded right in front of them in a public parking lot. But I had nothing to do with it.’
Liam’s fingers itched to wrap around Crump’s throat. But solitary confinement wasn’t a place he yearned to experience. ‘Then who? Jimmy Russell?’
‘Man, you’re really out of touch in here. Jimmy Russell is dead, some kind of freak hunting accident. Who’s stupid enough to clean their rifle in a deer stand and blow their own head off?’ Crump shook his head, as though disappointed with Russell’s final act on earth.
Liam had no answer to that. ‘Doug Young?’ he asked.
‘Doug Young?’ Crump’s expression changed to confusion. ‘Haven’t heard that name in years. That coward was too scared to even show up that day. No way could that guy rig a car bomb. He’d blow himself up instead.’
Liam stretched his large callused hands across the table. ‘Tell me who did or I’ll snap your neck before that guard gets halfway here. Might as well make a life sentence worth my while.’
Crump scooted his chair back. ‘Would you take it easy? I don’t know. Who did you tell about me?’
‘Nobody. If I were gonna spill my guts, I would’ve done so long ago. Then I wouldn’t be so lonely in here.’
‘That’s what I thought, but somebody’s been parked outside my apartment a couple times a week. Maybe some friend of your sister’s? That boyfriend of hers is probably pissed off about his car.’
‘I just told you. I didn’t drop your name to Katie or anyone else. And I never met her boyfriend.’ Liam was rapidly losing patience.
‘This ain’t good.’ Crump glanced around the room, growing more agitated by the minute.
‘Break me out of here and I’ll help you figure it out.’
‘I’m serious, man.’ Charley tried to snake his fingers through his hair but caught a nasty tangle instead.
‘At least you’ve had sixteen years of freedom to spend your one hundred k. More, since I never got my share.’
Crump laughed. ‘That’s what you think? All I got for the biggest mistake of my life was twenty k, along with a major headache. I spent most of it on my mother’s nursing home. I couldn’t stand that dump the county stuck her in.’
‘Why only twenty? Weren’t you the one divvying up the take? It should have been a lot more than that.’
Crump’s unhealthy complexion blanched to paper white. ‘Look, I can’t sit here rehashing the past all day. Trust me – I ain’t got no secret bank account in the Caymans. Just tell Katie to mind her own business. And if I were you, I’d watch my back. Prisons like this probably have as many weapons as your neighborhood dive bar.’ Charley sprang from his seat so fast his chair fell over backwards.
Liam watched the shell of a man disappear through the reinforced steel door, unsure if their former leader had just issued a warning … or a threat.
EIGHT
On Saturday night at the engagement dinner, Beth had been atypically quiet, while Michael and Eric happily made up any conversational deficit. The two men had hit it off immediately, with Michael promising Eric a personal invite to the nuptials, and Eric promising to keep Michael up to date on developments in Pensacola. Kate had no doubts both would take place.
Sunday, Beth and Michael accompanied her and Eric to the beach on Santa Rosa Island. Even though Michael had wanted to go to the zoo, Beth refused to give in two days in a row. Instead she perched on a stool, watching anything that moved in three directions. Liam’s enemies would have to stage their hit by sea for any success. Michael pretended to be reading a People Magazine until Kate announced she was heading to the waves. Then, suddenly, everyone wanted to cool off in the surf.
Once they returned to the hotel, Eric volunteered to cook his speciality – pasta Bolognese. How he managed to already have the necessary ingredients for the complex recipe was beyond Kate. But it tasted wonderful, even if the dinner felt like a last meal for the condemned.
Today, while Kate watched Beth pack her suitcase, she had to bite her cheek to keep from crying. But it was all for the best. Someday they would look back and laugh at the high drama.
It just wouldn’t be today.
Eric sauntered outside just as Beth and Michael loaded their suitcases into the trunk of Michael’s car.
Beth angled a ferocious glare at Eric. ‘And I thought you wouldn’t have the guts to show up and say goodbye.’ Begrudgingly, she extended a hand to him.
‘A handshake? No way.’ Eric pulled tiny Beth into a bear hug.
‘You’d better take care of my bestie,’ she said. ‘I’ll need her for bridesmaid duty in a couple of weeks.’
Kate stomped her foot. ‘Will you please stop? Can’t you trust that you trained me well?’
‘I trust my training, just not your learning.’ Beth ducked her head into the car. ‘Call me every day.’
Michael turned to Eric. ‘Is a handshake okay from me?’
‘For now, yes.’ Eric shook vigorously. ‘Just don’t forget to send my wedding invitation. I don’t trust Kate to include me as her plus-one.’
Kate didn’t bother to argue or stomp her foot a second time. She was too caught up in the emotion of he
r co-workers leaving.
‘Where to, boss?’ Eric asked, once they disappeared from view.
‘I thought you started your new job today.’ She swiped at her eyes with a sleeve.
‘They don’t need me for lunch. I don’t report until three o’clock, which gives me plenty of time to watch your back while you work your case.’
Kate pulled her gaze away from Main Street traffic. ‘Good, we’ll take your car. Nobody knows that one yet. I’ll take a quick shower and meet you in thirty minutes. I won’t get in until I’m certain I’m not being watched.’
‘Ten-four, Agent Ninety-Nine.’
‘Please, no more jokes. You need to take this seriously,’ she called over her shoulder.
Half an hour later, Kate climbed in Eric’s car after checking the lot for suspicious characters.
‘Now will you tell me where we’re going?’ he asked.
‘To see Mrs Westin’s former lover. Mark Harris is a fairly common name, so I studied the postings of every Mark Harris on social media in the area and narrowed our search down to two.’ Kate tapped the screen of her phone to bring up a map. ‘Turn left and follow the signs for Route 98 and the Bay Bridge. The first address is a warehouse in Gulf Breeze that was converted into condos ten years ago. Most of the units have water views. Sounds like a romantic kind of place, no?’
Eric kept his eyes on the road. ‘It does. Where does the second Mark Harris live?’
‘In a high-rise apartment on Gulf Breeze Parkway. But it’s almost in Navarre, which seems too far away from Mrs Westin’s house.’
‘I agree.’ While Kate programmed his GPS, Eric plugged in his iPod, apparently preferring music to idle chatter.
So Kate studied Harris’s Facebook page, even though she’d practically memorized the details last night. When they arrived at the first building, she pressed the buzzer next to his name and waited.
‘May I help you?’ said a male voice.
‘Mr Harris, this is Kate Weller and her associate, Mr Manfredi. We’re private investigators, but we’re unsure if we have the correct Mark Harris. Are you acquainted with Mrs Agnes Westin?’
‘Yes, Agnes and I were friends,’ he said.
‘Then may we come up and ask a few questions? We work for Lainey Westin.’
‘All right. I’m in 1002.’ After a brief pause, the security door swung open.
In the elevator, Eric pressed the button for the top floor. ‘Thanks for a promotion my first day on the job.’
Kate peered up at him. ‘Don’t get too excited. The pay remains the same – nothing. Harris might have wondered why I brought my former landlord along. Mainly you’re here to keep your eyes open. If Harris is the killer, who knows what he has up his sleeve. But you may only ask three questions, so choose wisely.’
Harris’s front door opened only the length of his security chain. ‘May I see identification, please?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’ Kate passed her PI ID, along with Eric’s driver’s license, through the opening. ‘My partner is still in training. That’s why he only has a driver’s license.’
Satisfied, Harris allowed them to enter. Although the unit was nowhere near as grand as Lainey’s, the furniture was expensive and the view of Santa Rosa Sound spectacular.
‘Lovely condo. Do you own it, Mr Harris?’ asked Kate.
‘I do not. I rent. Please have a seat.’ He pointed at the white leather couch.
‘Thank you. May I ask what you do for a living?’
‘I’m a graduate student pursuing an advance degree in art history. Although obtaining my doctorate is most likely out of the question now. I also work part time at the museum in town.’
‘What kind of career expectations does one have with a doctorate in the fine arts?’ Eric asked, burning off question number one.
‘I hope to become curator at one of the world’s major museums. My dream job would be to work at the National Gallery in London or the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.’
‘Do you live here alone?’ Kate asked, bringing Harris back to present time.
‘I do. Would you like coffee or tea?’
Eric shook his head, while Kate spoke for them. ‘No, we’re fine.’ Her gaze drifted around the room. ‘Times certainly have changed. When I was a student at the University of Florida, I lived in a walk-up with three other women. It was a dump compared to this.’
‘Let’s not beat around the bush, Miss Weller.’ Harris sat on a leather chair. ‘My rent was being paid by Mrs Westin. Lucky for me she paid six months in advance. So I’ll have a chance to find another place before I’m booted out. Ask me whatever you like. I have nothing to hide.’
You know what they say about people who make that claim. ‘How did you two meet?’ she asked.
‘At the museum. It was opening night for the new wing – black tie, open bar, fully catered. My invitation was because I work there. I had to rent my tux. Mrs Westin paid a thousand dollars for her ticket. And I assure you she neither rented her gown nor her jewelry. As you know, Agnes was a knowledgeable patron of the arts.’
‘Were you surprised by Mrs Westin’s interest in you?’ asked Eric. ‘Considering the rather large age difference.’
‘Not at all. Despite the fact I earn only slightly more than minimum wage, I know a lot about art and art history. Most of our benefactors know little about the masterpieces they’re helping to support … and have no desire to learn.’ Harris crossed his legs. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but most are simply looking for a fashionable tax write-off.’
‘And Mrs Westin?’ Kate couldn’t help but notice his expensive watch.
‘Agnes began studying art in college and never stopped. She knows as much as me, if not more. Just not about the pieces we had recently procured abroad. When Agnes approached me with specific questions, I was happy to provide a private tour while the other guests proceeded to the buffet and bar area. We began seeing each other regularly after that night.’
‘Forgive my impertinence, Mr Harris. But do you also date women your own age?’
‘No, I don’t. As a student, I have no money to wine and dine women, unless they would be content with food off the dollar menu and watching a movie that I recorded. And, believe me, women my age are not. Perhaps Mr Manfredi can back me up on this.’
Eric offered a nod, along with a small smile.
‘In the beginning, my relationship with Mrs Westin was platonic. We visited museums, galleries, and private collections throughout the panhandle, plus Mobile, Jacksonville, and St Augustine. She always bought lunch and dinner. Later, when she realized I might not finish my degree without a benefactor, she insisted on taking care of the tuition, along with my rent and utilities. Art was that important to her, and she enjoyed my company. In exchange, she had a young man on her arm for her numerous fundraisers and as a travel companion.’ Harris described the relationship without an ounce of embarrassment.
‘Talking about this doesn’t bother you?’ asked Eric, exhausting his quota of questions.
‘Not in the least. Women have had sugar-daddies for years. Why shouldn’t the privilege work both ways? And that’s how I thought of my relationship with her – a rare privilege.’
‘I gather your relationship advanced beyond platonic status.’
‘That detail, Miss Weller, is none of your business.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Kate lowered her gaze to the expensive Mexican floor tiles.
‘Neither of us had any delusions that our liaison would be anything but temporary. We agreed that her support would end when I graduated next year. I planned to move from this plush condo and return the rented furniture. But, in the meantime, Agnes had arranged to take me to Europe this summer: One month in Paris at the Louvre and the National Galleries, one month in Italy, and a final month at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. It would have been an art lover’s dream come true.’ Harris’s eyes darkened. ‘In case you’re wondering, that trip is out of the question. I’d also signed an agr
eement drawn up by her attorney that our relationship wasn’t a common-law marriage. Upon her death, the money will go to Lainey or to charity, as specified in her will. So, as you see, I had no motive to kill her.’
‘I didn’t mean to imply—’
Harris held up his hand. ‘I’m not offended. You need to cover all bases, and I want Agnes’s killer caught.’
‘You’re assuming she was murdered. Suicide hasn’t been ruled out.’
‘Agnes never would have killed herself. She was too content with the life she’d created.’
‘According to your Facebook page, you had lunch with Mrs Westin on the day she died,’ said Kate. ‘Most likely you were the last person to see her alive.’
Sadness filled his face. ‘Yes, I posted a lot of photos that day. If I were the killer, that wouldn’t have been very smart of me.’
‘Can your tell us anything about that day – how you spent your time, what you ate and drank? You never know what might be helpful?’
Harris walked to the window overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, where pleasure boats bobbed in the calm waters. ‘We ate chicken salad sandwiches on sourdough bread. And she had broccoli salad. I hate broccoli and I’m allergic to walnuts. Her housekeeper always puts in walnuts anyway, probably because she doesn’t like me.’
Kate jotted down notes while Harris patiently waited for her.
‘We drank bottled iced tea and white wine,’ he continued. ‘Agnes loves a sparkling Riesling with lunch, but I don’t remember the brand.’
‘Did you supply any of the food or drinks?’
He laughed. ‘Agnes was very discerning. Her housekeeper, Luisa, always prepared the hamper and filled a cooler for her outings.’
‘Were any of the bottles already opened?’ Kate interrupted.
‘No, I opened the tea and popped the cork on the bubbly. Her fingers were usually too stiff.’
‘According to your posts, you two sunbathed on the bow, read books, and snorkeled around the marina. Any other activities?’
