Ron Base - Tree Callister 04 - The Two Sanibel Sunset Detectives

by Ron Base

  “Someone died in that fire.”

  “Probably the jerk who set it.” Ryde smiled and patted Tree’s arm. “The police will get to the bottom of it, don’t worry. Come on, let’s rehearse. We’ve got a show to do.”

  Rex called out, “Can we please have Bonnie and Ryde, our Fred and Ginger, onstage, so we can run through what they’re doing.”

  Ryde followed Bonnie, a statuesque woman with soft blond hair, onto the stage. The music started up, “The Way You Look Tonight.” Ryde twirled Bonnie, not Astaire and Rogers, but graceful enough to impress the Big Arts crowd—and Tree. There was applause from the other cast members as the couple approached the podium and announced the winner of the Best Actor Oscar.

  That was Tree’s cue to mount the stage. By the time he reached Bonnie and Ryde, he had his speech out and ready.

  He read:

  “Good grief, they told me to be brief.

  But there are so many people who deserve my thanks,

  From Steven Spielberg to Tom Hanks.

  And I wouldn’t be here without my Mom and Dad.

  Except they think I’m gay and it makes them sad…”

  When he finished, everyone laughed and applauded a beaming Tree. Ryde’s eyes twinkled with delight. For some reason that made Tree feel closer to him. Ryde was a kindred spirit up here on stage, encouraging Tree to new performance heights. They would work together with Bonnie, too, of course, and Tree would steal the show on Oscar night. Even Rex seemed pleased. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he called to Tree from his seat in the theater. “Nicely done. Maybe you won’t screw this up, after all.”

  Tree floated off the stage, wondering again if he should have become an actor instead of wasting all those years in the newspaper business. Ah, well, he thought, wistfully, too late now.

  Or maybe not.

  There was Ryde Bodie, grinning, squeezing his arm affectionately and saying into his ear: “Well done, Tree. You’re a star!”

  ________

  “Did I ever tell you I thought of becoming an actor as a young man?” Tree said later that evening as he and Freddie sat on the terrace by the pool, Freddie sipping the single glass of chardonnay she allowed herself before dinner.

  “Let’s say you’ve mentioned it a couple of times lately,” Freddie said. She had changed from Eileen Fisher into shorts and T-shirt by Target. “I thought you always wanted to be a newspaperman. I thought when you were a kid, while everyone else around you was floundering, wondering what they were going to do with their lives, you knew exactly what you wanted.”

  “I actually dreamt of playing rhythm guitar in Elvis’s band,” Tree said. “For years as a teenager, I fantasized about that.”

  “Except your fantasy failed to extend to actually learning to play the guitar,” Freddie said.

  “That’s why fantasies are so great. You can imagine without going through the pain of actually having to do anything. But I did think seriously about acting.”

  “So why didn’t you pursue it?”

  Tree shrugged. “I guess I took the path of least resistance. People liked what I wrote, and they encouraged me to write more, and before I knew it I had a newspaper job. Nobody ever encouraged me to become an actor.”

  “You should have said something,” Freddie said.

  “I suppose it worked out, okay.” He smiled at her. “Besides, if I had become an actor that would have changed the trajectory of my life, and I might not have met you.”

  “Perish the thought,” Freddie said.

  “I’m serious,” Tree said.

  She got up and leaned over him and kissed him with wine-scented lips. “You’re such a charmer,” she murmured. And kissed him again. “I’m going inside to make dinner.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  She shook her head. “You’re going to have to suffer through turkey burgers again tonight.”

  “Fine with me,” he said.

  They ate on the terrace, the night cooling around them, and they got down to the business of his business, the subject du jour these days, even when they didn’t intend it to be. Tree told Freddie about his latest encounter with Ryde Bodie, how he didn’t seem at all worried about the fire destroying his house or about the fact that someone had died in the blaze.

  “So if Ryde wasn’t killed, who was?”

  “The police say they have yet to identify the body.”

  “What about the kids?” Freddie said. “Did he talk about them?”

  “He says they’re with him, and they’re okay.”

  “But are they? I mean isn’t that what this is all about? A boy and a girl scared of their father?”

  “Ryde said his wife was killed in a car accident. He was behind the wheel. Madison and Joshua blame him for what happened. Marcello says the kids are certain their father killed their mother.”

  “That’s awful,” Freddie said. “No wonder they came to you. They’re scared and uncertain. They don’t trust their own father, and from what you’ve told me about him, I wouldn’t trust him, either.”

  “You haven’t met him. I don’t know what it is, but there is something very reassuring about Ryde. He puts you at ease, somehow.”

  “His kids don’t seem to share that view,” Freddie said. “And neither apparently do the feds.”

  “He was very complimentary about my performance today,” Tree said.

  “Soon you’ll be inseparable pals,” Freddie said.

  “Well, the police do suspect I helped him start the fire.”

  “Come on,” Freddie said. “They don’t really—do they?”

  “Markfield and Cee Jay were at my office today telling me not to leave town.”

  Freddie rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know this guy’s real name. How could you help him set a fire?”

  “I do know his real name—sort of.”

  “So what is it?”

  “Wayne Granger. He said he uses the name Ryde Bodie for business reasons.”

  “What kind of man does that?”

  “Writers use pseudonyms all the time,” Tree said.

  “The kind of man who sells phony contracts to investors, the kind of man being investigated by federal authorities, who sets his house on fire, the kind of man who has a lot to hide—that’s what kind of man,” Freddie pronounced.

  “That sounds suspiciously like you don’t want me to drop this.”

  “Not that you would, anyway,” Freddie said. “I’m sorry you didn’t become an actor because maybe you wouldn’t have ended up doing this. But you’re doing it, and you’ve got yourself involved with those children, so I think you have an obligation to make sure they are safe.”

  As usual, Freddie was right, Tree reflected, even though he had trouble imagining Ryde, whatever his secrets and shortcomings, exposing his children to danger. He was about to say this to Freddie when his cellphone rang.

  “Tree,” the voice on the other end said. “This is Ryde Bodie.”

  “I was just thinking about you,” Tree said. And talking about you, too.

  “You see?” Ryde said with a laugh. “It’s working onstage together. We’re bonding.”

  “Is that what it is?” Tree said.

  “Listen, how would you and your lovely wife like to join me for drinks and dinner Saturday night?”

  Tree threw a glance at Freddie who raised her eyebrows questioningly. Tree mouthed Ryde Bodie’s name.

  Tree said, “Saturday night, Ryde?”

  “That’s right,” Ryde said.

  Freddie’s eyebrows did a nosedive into a frown. But she nodded her head.

  “Sure,” Tree said. “That sounds great.”

  “We’re going to meet at seven thirty at the place on Rabbit Road.” And then, dryly: “I think you know where it is.”

  “I believe I can find it,” Tree said.

  “See you Saturday,” Ryde said, and hung up.

  Tree looked at Freddie. “Now you can meet the man himself.”

  “I can hard
ly wait,” Freddie said, rising and stretching. “I’m beat, and I’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  “Let’s crawl into bed,” Tree said. “I can tell you my life story.”

  “I’m all too familiar with it,” Freddie said. She gave him a look. “Or am I?”

  ________

  After Freddie went into the bedroom, Tree collected up plates and the wine glass and carried them inside. He rinsed off the plates and put them in the dishwasher along with the wine glass and then took some time washing the pan in which Freddie had broiled the turkey burgers. He was growing tired himself.

  He collected the papers and magazines strewn about the TV room. He hadn’t even had a chance to read the day’s News Press. He picked it up and glanced at the front page. Just below the fold, a police mug shot of a dark-haired man with a mustache jumped out at him. The caption beneath the photo said that police had identified the body that had washed up on a Captiva Island beach earlier in the week. He was Rodrigo Ramos. According to the paper, the FBI suspected Ramos was involved with the Mexican drug cartels and was wanted on both sides of the border in connection with a number of murders.

  Tree stared at the photo. He had seen this guy before.

  Only he wasn’t dead.

  That morning he had been alive and well and hosing down a yacht behind the Santini Marina Plaza.

  16

  I don’t want to do this,” Freddie said as Tree crossed Blind Pass onto Sanibel Island, headed for dinner on Rabbit Road.

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious to meet him?”

  “I don’t like dealing with people when I’m not even certain who they are.”

  “Who am I? Who are any of us, really?”

  “Now you’re getting all existential on me.”

  “Seriously, I wonder who I am much of the time. God knows what anyone else is thinking.”

  “I’m thinking you’re much more of a mystery than I anticipated.”

  “See? Maybe I’m not much different than Ryde Bodie.”

  “You have more than one name?”

  Tree cast her a sidelong glance. “Maybe I’d surprise you.”

  “You’ve surprised me quite enough, thanks,” Freddie said. “I don’t need any more surprises.”

  “I know you hate these things, but try and enjoy yourself tonight.”

  “I’m attempting to keep an open mind.”

  Tree said, “That’s all I ask.”

  “What I do for love,” Freddie said as Tree’s cellphone rang.

  “You should not be talking into a cellphone while you’re driving,” Freddie said.

  Tree said, “Hello?”

  “Mr. C, it’s me, Thomas.”

  Tree sighed, “Yes, Thomas. What is it?”

  “That name you’re looking for.”

  “What name?”

  “You know, the body in the Traven house.”

  “You’ve got the name?”

  “I do if we have a deal, Mr. C.”

  “Look, okay, Tommy—Thomas. Like I said, I’ll do what I can.”

  “Well, that’s still not much of a deal,” Tommy said. “But I’m so proud of myself for getting the cops to give up the name, I have to tell someone.”

  “So who is it?”

  Tree,” Freddie said. “You should get off the phone.”

  “The dead man’s name is James Edward Waterhouse.”

  Tree gripped the phone harder. “Jim Waterhouse? Are you sure about that?”

  “You know this guy?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Mr. C? What do you know about him?”

  Tree hung up the phone.

  “What was that all about?” Freddie asked.

  “The body in the Traven house. It’s Jim Waterhouse, the guy I encountered outside the place on Rabbit Road.”

  “This is the guy who said Ryde Bodie had defrauded him.”

  “Yes,” Tree said.

  “And now he’s dead,” Freddie said.

  _________

  Tree turned the Mercedes into the drive on Rabbit Road. Ryde’s Cadillac Escalade was parked beside a Lexus.

  Freddie opened the door. Then she stopped and looked back at him. “Are you going to say anything to Ryde Bodie?”

  “About what?” he said.

  “Jim Waterhouse.”

  “No,” Tree said. “For now, let’s not say anything.”

  They came up the steps and onto the porch where they were met by Curtis, formal in a black suit and tie. Tonight, thankfully, he didn’t have his AR15 Assault Rifle. He said, portentously, Tree thought, “Mr. Bodie is expecting you.” Freddie gave Tree another look. He was anticipating many of those looks this evening.

  Curtis led them into the sitting room dominated by a table draped in a white table cloth, laid out with stemware gleaming in candlelight. Seated nearby was a tiny Latino couple, dressed in white, matching the table cloth.

  The woman turned to view the new arrivals. Her black hair was pulled into a bun away from a deep brown, hatchet-like face. The man also had black hair but his face was darker and rounder. It occurred to Tree the pair could be brother and sister—or a couple married so long they had begun to resemble one another.

  Ryde rose from an easy chair, a glass of white wine in his hand. Seated on a sofa not far away dressed in a short blue flower-print dress was Bonnie, the blond woman who was Ryde’s partner in the Big Arts Center Oscar show.

  “There you are,” Ryde said with a smile. “This must be the Fredryka Stayner I’ve heard so many wonderful things about.”

  Give Freddie her due, Tree thought, faced with a dubious evening, she could put aside her misgivings and turn on the charm full blast, which was what she did now, matching the intensity of Ryde’s smile with the force of her own. The glare coming off the two of them made Tree squint.

  Ryde turned to Bonnie and said, “Tree, you know Bonnie, of course. But Bonnie, I don’t think you’ve met Freddie.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Bonnie extended a regal hand which Freddie took.

  “The three of us are doing a thing together at the Oscar show,” Ryde said. “Bonnie and I were just practicing our dance moves, so I thought it might be fun if she joined us for dinner.”

  “Of course,” Tree said. “How could anyone resist the opportunity to dine with Fred and Ginger.”

  Ryde turned to the tiny couple who sat very still and looked very glum. “I’d like you to meet two unexpected guests,” Ryde said—a trifle uneasily, Tree thought. “Paola and Manuel are business associates from Mexico. They dropped in unexpectedly.”

  Manuel stood and bowed slightly before shaking Tree’s hand. “Hello,” he said.

  The hatchet-faced woman, Paola, didn’t move. She seemed content to glare at the other guests.

  “I’m afraid Paola and Manuel don’t speak much English,” Ryde said, as if to explain the gloomy expressions on the couple’s faces. He then spoke to them in Spanish. Manuel shrugged and attempted something that resembled a smile.

  Ryde chuckled. Bonnie smiled brightly. So did Freddie.

  Tree broke an uneasy silence by presenting Ryde with the bottle of good merlot they had brought along. Ryde passed the bottle off to the hovering Curtis and asked Freddie what she would like to drink.

  “Chardonnay if you have it.”

  “I have a nicely oaked California white,” Ryde said. “How’s that?”

  “That would be perfect,” Freddie replied.

  Ryde addressed Tree. “I know you don’t drink, Tree, although I still can’t get over an ex-newspaper guy and a detective who doesn’t imbibe. Can I get you some sparkling water?”

  Tree agreed that would be fine. Ryde said something in Spanish to the rigid Paola and Manuel. They both shook their heads. Ryde said to Curtis, “Apparently our Mexican guests don’t want anything, Curtis. Would you mind taking care of our other guests’ drinks?”

  Curtis went away to get the drinks while Ryde indicated Tree and Freddie should take the loveseat. He then retur
ned to his place on the easy chair, not far from Paola and Manuel.

  “So Ryde and Bonnie, did the two of you just meet?” Freddie inquired. “Or did you know each other before the Oscar show?”

  Bonnie shot Ryde a glance—a nervous glance, Tree thought.

  “We’ve been involved in a couple of business ventures over the years,” Ryde said smoothly.

  “Just like Paola and Manuel,” Freddie said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Ryde said.

  “Paola and Manuel are also business associates, too, aren’t they?”

  The couple, recognizing their names, adopted quizzical expressions. Paola looked at Ryde who shrugged, and said. “Yes, of course, I see what you mean.”

  “You might say the four of us are involved in a venture together,” Bonnie said.

  Ryde hastened to say, “Bonnie introduced me to the island. I was just saying how much I’m enjoying being here and how appreciative I am that she alerted me to it.”

  Bonnie smiled and said, “I’ve been coming here since I was a child.”

  “It really is different, isn’t it?” Ryde added. “It’s an undisturbed paradise compared to most of the rest of the state. I arrive on the island and immediately I am at peace.”

  “Even when your house burns down?” Freddie said.

  Ryde’s smile remained frozen in place. “These things happen in a life. I’ve learned to accept the good and deal with the bad. Insurance will cover most of the damages, so the way I look at it, I will come out with an even better house than before.”

  “Except someone ended up dead,” Freddie said.

  “Yes, the fellow who started the fire,” Ryde replied. “I’m afraid I don’t have much sympathy.”

  He focused on Paola and Manuel and once again spoke to them in Spanish. They did not appear to react.

  “My family can remember when there wasn’t the causeway,” Bonnie said, changing the subject. “When Mom and Dad first came here, the only way to reach the island was by ferry. That’s my first memory of the island. If you think it’s unspoiled now, you should have seen it back then.”

  “I can imagine,” Tree said.

  Bonnie turned to Freddie. “What about you, Freddie? Are you a newcomer like Ryde?”

  “A bit of an interloper, I’m afraid,” Freddie said. “But like you, Tree used to come here as a boy.”