Murder in Tropical Breeze (Tropical Breeze Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Mary Bowers

  Sharp claws moved through the air, mixing colors and memories, and I could feel the waves in the air. Pictures formed, and the pictures coalesced and came to me in order. I had already had everything I needed. I just needed to smooth out the edges, see the larger shapes.

  I slept then, and when I opened my eyes, dusk had set in and Basket was curled up in a chair watching me with cold green eyes.

  Chapter 26

  When I awoke the next morning, I had it all worked out. Now that I was looking back, it seemed so obvious.

  I knew what I had to do first. Sheena was in danger.

  She was scheduled to be at Girlfriend’s that morning, and I went straight there, bringing the goddess into the back room with me as usual. As I opened the cat carrier and watched Basket step out and make her way into the shop, I realized that I hadn’t been the one making the decisions as to her comings and goings. Her will had always been clear to me, and somehow, now that things were drawing to a close, her will was loosening, not tightening. I had a moment of panic, thinking she was going to abandon me.

  Then I pulled myself together. I was doing this for Vesta, and just the thought of her brought a warmth over me, as if she were standing beside me, and I had my feet on the path again. I was going forward, and I could do this alone.

  Florence held me up for a moment in the back room. She was sorting things in the attic, and heard me come in and called to me. I went and sat on the stairs a moment, saying good morning and seeing how she was doing. After yesterday, I was worried about her, but she seemed fine. I was so strung up about what I needed to do that I don’t even remember what we talked about. I only know her warm brown eyes were clear again.

  As I stood up to go into the shop I said, “Florence, I want you to stop worrying about what we discussed yesterday. I wasn’t sure then that I could help Myrtle, but I am now. I’ve given the situation a lot of thought, and I’m ready to help.”

  “You know who killed Diana? Because it wasn’t Myrtle.”

  “I know what happened. Just trust me. It’s going to be all right. Is Sheena in?”

  “Yes. She’s in the shop with her boyfriend. He won’t let her move heavy things, and we’re arranging Vesta’s furniture in the showroom today.”

  “Kevin is here?” I said, lowering my voice to a sharp whisper.

  Startled, she didn’t answer, but just stood there making a little “o” with her mouth while I turned to stride into the shop. I must’ve come in like I was spearheading a raid, because Sheena and Kevin stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at me.

  “I want to talk to you,” I said, looking at Kevin.

  Sheena made a little noise, transferring her gaze from me to Kevin and back again, but Kevin just looked at me with his unreadable eyes.

  “You know what this is about,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “Back room.”

  I turned to part the curtains and heard a hurried conversation between Sheena and Kevin, but when he came in, he came alone.

  “You’ve been busy,” I said. “Or should I say, your truck has been busy.”

  He leaned against the wall across the little back room from me and looked me in the eye. After a moment, he said, “So you figured it out.”

  Florence didn’t make a sound and I hoped she’d stay out of the way.

  “I did. I’m sure Sheena has too, right?” He nodded. “The cops probably have too.”

  “They don’t have any proof.”

  “They will. And when they do, there’s a good chance you’re going to wind up in jail. Have you prepared yourself for that?”

  “I’ve taken steps,” he said significantly.

  I studied him a moment longer, then nodded. “Well, God help you. What were you thinking? That little lady in there doesn’t deserve this, and that new baby certainly doesn’t!”

  “I know, ma’am, I know.” He put up his hands in a pushing motion, and I decided I’d gone far enough. After a beat, he said, “We good?”

  I sighed in frustration. “For now. This isn’t over.”

  He wheeled around and went back into the shop. When he was gone, a frightened Florence stuck her head around the stairwell.

  “What was that all about?” she whispered. “Is he the one?”

  “He’s one of the ones,” I said, and before she could interfere with my agenda I said, “Where’s your sister?”

  “Myrtle? She’s at home. Why? Why do you want her?”

  “I just want to talk to her,” I said.

  “Well, I’m coming too.”

  “No you’re not. I need Myrtle to talk to me, and she won’t do it if you’re there. I need you to stay here.” I gave her a determined look, and after a few more back-and-forths she finally backed down, but only as far as giving me half an hour before she came home to see what was going on.

  “Forty-five minutes,” I said. “I need at least that much time. If you come in at the wrong moment, it’s going to mess up everything.”

  She stared at me stubbornly, but finally agreed.

  “I’m leaving the cat,” I said, getting out my car keys. I was driving, though it was only a couple of blocks to the Purdys’ house, because Myrtle and I were going on from there, and I was going to need my car.

  “Myrtle, I know you’re in there,” I yelled when she didn’t answer the doorbell. I had seen the drawn front curtains twitch as I walked up to the house.

  I waited. I knocked again. I could almost hear her breathing on the other side of the door.

  “I can wait all day,” I said, getting louder. “Sooner or later the neighbors are going to notice and want to know what’s going on.”

  She opened the door wordlessly and I walked in.

  “Myrtle,” I said, “I need to talk to you, and I need you to listen to me.”

  She was doing her best to ignore my presence. She walked deliberately into the kitchen and went to a painted wooden table with a cup of tea sitting on it, took a seat and sipped the tea. I followed her in, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.

  “Well, what is it?” she finally said.

  “I’m trying to save your life.”

  Even that didn’t break down the wall, but it got her attention. Skeptically, with a chuckle percolating through her words, she said, “My life? What do you mean?”

  “You do realize that the police are getting ready to arrest you, don’t you? That should be scary enough, but you may have even bigger things to worry about. Maybe you won’t live long enough to be arrested. Myrtle, everybody in town thinks you killed Diana, and somebody out there might just want them to keep on thinking that. Even your own sister thinks you’re guilty. She says she doesn’t, but she does.”

  “Now you’re just talking nonsense. Why would my life be in danger?”

  “Think about it. If you were to suddenly die, say of a drug overdose, everybody would think that your guilty conscience had driven you to suicide. Everything would be tied up nice and neat, wouldn’t it? The police would be happy to close the case.” I sat back and crossed my arms. “Ever read mystery novels?”

  “What? Of course. Everybody does. What of it?”

  “In every book, there’s a character who’s holding out. Somebody who has critical information about the murder, but either out of loyalty or secretiveness or not realizing that what they know is important, they hold back. They don’t tell anybody what they know, and of course, being a reader of mysteries, you know what happens next.”

  She gazed at me steadily, her brown eyes flat, her face like stone. After a moment, she said, “They get murdered.”

  “Exactly.”

  I was keeping one eye on the kitchen clock because Florence might not be able to stand to wait the full forty-five minutes. My patience was dwindling and time wasn’t on my side. We did a stare-down. If she didn’t tell me or Florence or somebody what she knew, she was in terrible danger. When she remained silent, I tried another tactic. />
  “Did you love Vesta? Was she a good person, who deserved to live all the days of her life, and not have her time cut short by somebody who found her inconvenient?”

  Her eyes flashed. “I loved her like my own flesh and blood – more! – and she was the most worthy and good person in this whole blasted town!”

  “Myrtle, I believe that Vesta was murdered, and I think I know by whom.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about that, or I’d tell the cops. I have no idea what it is you want me to say, but whatever I may or may not know, I don’t know who killed Miss Vesta – if anybody did!”

  “Okay, then you fall into the category of people who don’t know that they have a vital clue, and out of loyalty to the Huntington family, you’re keeping it to yourself. It’s something that would make the family look bad and have tongues wagging all over town, maybe all over the county. There’s something going on at Cadbury House, and you’ve decided not to gossip about it. Am I right?”

  She gave a little gasp, then stared at me. “You’re trying to trick me.”

  “No, Myrtle, I’m trying to save you. You know a secret, and when a certain someone realizes what you know, your life won’t mean any more to them than Vesta’s did. Or Diana’s,” I added.

  “Diana? What’s she got to do with it?”

  “If what I think is true, Diana and Vesta were murdered by the same person.”

  Still she held her peace. But she was at least doubtful, and was trying to think fast. She probably would’ve told me in the end, but by then I was tired of fencing with her.

  “Myrtle,” I said, uncrossing my arms and laying them on the table, “let’s talk about that nurse’s uniform. Or should I say, the stripper’s costume?”

  She stared at me and her eyes filled with tears. Her fierce loyalty still held her in check, and she started talking slowly, unwillingly, right up until the part about finding that scandalous outfit in the house. After that, I couldn’t have shut her up if I’d wanted to, and let me tell you, I didn’t want to.

  I had been right. About everything.

  Florence did wait at Girlfriend’s for exactly forty-five minutes, then came panting up the sidewalk just as Myrtle and I were about to leave.

  We explained where we were going, and she said, “I’m coming with you.”

  From the look on her face, it was no use arguing with her. “Fine. Get in the back seat and put your seat belt on.”

  As we left for Cadbury House, I got out my new cell phone (the old one was useless after I dove into the swimming pool with it in my pocket) and made three calls: one to Bernie (I owed her one, and after this, she was going to owe me ten), one to Cadbury House, just to make sure that Graeme and Jordan were home (they were; Jordan answered), and the other to Tina. I figured it was about time to hear what she’d wanted to make a scene about at Thirty-Nine.

  I was putting the phone away when Myrtle said, “I want my lawyer present.”

  Glancing at her stubborn face beside me, I got the cell phone out again and said, “Call Michael,” into the phone.

  We got there first, as I planned. Telling Myrtle and Florence to stay in the car, I hopped out and strode on up the steps. Hearing my own pounding footsteps as I walked across the wood planks of the veranda, I told myself to take it down a notch.

  Jordan opened the door, looking worried, then looked down to my car.

  “I don’t know, Taylor,” he said in a low voice. “My dad doesn’t want to see her.”

  “Myrtle is innocent. I can prove it, if you’ll let us in.”

  By that time, Graeme was in the doorway behind his son and was glaring at me.

  “Graeme, I’m so sorry, but please believe me, Myrtle and I had nothing to do with your wife’s death. We tried to save her,” I said, tears of frustration beginning to well up in my eyes as I remembered how hard we’d tried.

  I guess something about the expression on my face convinced him. He was making up his mind, and I was sure he was about to let us in when I heard other vehicles driving up behind me. I turned and saw a Flagler County Sheriff’s Office patrol car, ditto for the Tropical Breeze Police, and a black Genesis. Bernie and the boyfriend (Kyle Longley, County Sheriff) got out of one car, Tropical Breeze Police Officer Jack Peterson got out of another, and Tina Armstrong stepped out of the Genesis. Only after they were all advancing upon me did the Purdy sisters get out of my car and tentatively follow everybody else.

  We stood in front of the door silently looking at Graeme until he finally swept aside and sarcastically said, “Won’t you come in?”

  As I followed up in the rear, sweeping the Purdy girls before me, he whispered, “This had better be good, damn you.”

  “It is.”

  Everybody gathered uneasily in the lodge-style great room and just stood there, looking around. Incredibly, Myrtle inched up to Graeme and said, “There’s a lot of people in the house. Should I serve tea?”

  He glared at her, then walked away, saying, “Have a seat everyone. It’s Taylor’s show. Let’s see what she’s got.”

  I noticed that Tina had dressed in unusually dark, modest clothing, for her, and was playing the comforting friend with Graeme. A car door slammed outside; it had to be Michael. I couldn’t help but wonder if Tina would try to keep Michael on the line while she flirted with the new widower, hoping somebody would take her away from Tropical Breeze.

  Graeme made a sweeping motion at me. “Whoever it is, let’em in. Since you’ve taken over my house, you may as well play hostess.” He sat down in what was obviously his favorite chair and crossed his legs. Tina posed herself on the arm of his chair.

  I turned back to the front door, and as he came in, Michael whispered, “You called the police? What are all those cars doing here? What’s this all about?”

  “I’ll just have to explain it to you while I explain it to everybody else. I can’t give you the short version; there isn’t one. But don’t worry – your client is all right. She’s in there with everybody else.”

  “How’s Graeme taking it?”

  “Not well.”

  We had reached the entrance to the great room by then, and when Michael saw the huge gathering, he stopped in his tracks and glared at me. “Are you crazy?”

  “Probably. But there’s no backing out now.”

  “All right, Taylor,” Graeme said in a dangerous tone of voice. “What’s this all about? Why have you brought my wife’s murderer into my house?”

  Myrtle burst into tears, and Florence piped up, angrily defending the sister she couldn’t get along with.

  Michael gave me a sidelong look communicating that I had brought this onto myself, then entered the room and sat down beside his client.

  Then they all stared at me.

  I felt very calm.

  I got a small package of tissues out of my purse, took one out and shook out the folds, handed it to Myrtle, who blew her nose, then went forth with courage and confidence, marshalling my thoughts.

  Chapter 27

  “Let’s start with how Vesta was killed,” I said. Nobody spoke up, everybody frowned, the cops both tensed, and Bernie gawped at me, then started writing madly in her steno pad.

  “Because she was killed. What was going on in this house that night? Jordan was throwing a party, down at the dock. His girlfriend, Carmen was there, along with some friends from Tropical Breeze. Diana and Graeme were home, but probably not speaking to one another. They hadn’t been getting along for some time. Myrtle was getting Vesta settled into bed and giving her the pills she took at night, including something for pain. Without it, she couldn’t sleep.” I looked to Myrtle. “Is that right?”

  She nodded silently, then looked down to the wadded-up tissue she still held in her lap.

  “What about me?” Tina said archly. “I don’t like being left out.”

  “You were at home, or out drinking, or doing whatever you were doing. You weren’t here. And Michael, the same for you, in case you don’t like being left out
either. So, Myrtle, I’m sure you’ve thought back to that night. You were wandering around the house in the middle of the night, uneasy about something. You even went to check on Vesta, just to be sure she was all right, only to find her dead. Then you really started to torture yourself, trying to remember, trying to visualize that compartment of pills you’d given her and asking yourself, ‘Were there too many pills?’”

  She gasped, and every head in the room turned toward her.

  “Well, what did you decide?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she wailed. “I just don’t know. It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t sort the pills.”

  “Who did?” Sheriff Longley suddenly asked.

  After a brief pause, Graeme said, “I did. I always did. And there was nothing wrong with the pills. I was always careful about them, especially the ones for pain.”

  I looked back to Myrtle. “Is that right? The pills you gave her seemed like the ones you gave her every night?”

  “There were so many of them! I got out of the habit of even looking at them. I just spilled them into Miss Vesta’s hand and gave her a glass of water to take them with. I trusted Mr. Graeme to get it right.”

  “And I did get it right,” he snarled.

  “Well, if we really want to know, we can have tests done, but I think there might be someone here who could help us out about Vesta’s pain pills.” I looked at Jordan, and his face reddened. His chin went up, he stared at me a moment, then a look of decision came over his face.

  “I only did it once,” he said in a strangled voice. “I knew it was wrong and I never did it again. This was before I knew she was getting one every night so she could sleep. She had started refusing them when I asked if she wanted one because they made her drop off to sleep all day long. So I – I didn’t realize – I’d never have slipped it to her if I thought she was already taking one every night.”

  His father stared at him. “What are you saying, Jordan?”

  “She was getting a little – confused. And she had a habit of wandering in when my friends were over. It was – embarrassing. And the pills gave her relief. The pain was so bad sometimes.”