by Abigail Keam
As much as Walter disliked getting close to the mansion, due to the presence of the new guard, Walter felt he had no choice. He crept closer to the house, keeping an eye out for the watchman. Peering through the wrought iron gate, Walter could see the guard had fallen asleep in his car with a baseball game blaring on the radio.
It was now or never. Walter might not get another chance.
Standing under the window of the room Teddy had stayed in, Walter surveyed the grounds. As far as he could tell, nothing looked out of place.
There was a shade garden filled with hostas under a massive white oak tree and then there was the perennial garden with a beehive. Beyond that was an orchard.
Walter’s gaze locked onto the beehive–the perfect hiding place. Most people would never go near it for fear of being stung. Since it was not yet harvest time, the beekeeper would not open the hive for some months yet.
Remembering that at night all the bees were inside the hive and calm, Walter figured as long as he did not bump the hive, make noise, or shine a light inside the hive, the bees would remain passive. That much he had learned from Josiah.
Walter carefully approached the hive from the back. He was afraid of honeybees, however, the desire to find the clip was stronger than his fear.
He turned on the metal detector and approached the hive. Even though the device made a low, humming noise, the bees did not come out to investigate. Walter slowly moved around the hive until he made a complete circle. As soon as he moved the detector’s coil under the hive, a strong clicking alarm sounded, indicating it had found something.
Marking the spot, Walter turned off the metal detector. He then noted another humming sound that he had hoped he wouldn’t hear.
The honeybees were aware that something was outside their hive, and were rousing the guard bees to take a peek.
Breaking out in a sweat, Walter dropped to his hands and knees, reached into the space beneath the hive and scraped away dirt with his trowel. He knew it couldn’t be too deep. Teddy would have to be able to grab the gems at a moment’s notice.
He had barely begun when the blade of the trowel struck something. Walter cast the trowel aside, and reaching his arm under the hive bottom, he poked around in the dirt until he felt a canvas sack. In his excitement, Walter grabbed the sack and got up too quickly, accidentally knocking over the hive.
Thousands of enraged honeybees spilled out of the toppled hive, looking for something to punish for damaging their home.
Walter ran like Old Scratch was after him on a full-moon-lit night, trying to snatch his soul.
After about a hundred feet or so, the number of bees chasing Walter dwindled to a few. He had been stung multiple times on his hands, arms, and face, but the adrenaline of finding the canvas sack made Walter oblivious to the pain.
He slowed to a walk, but was still breathing hard when he found a bench to sit down. Carefully Walter untied the filthy red canvas bag and shook out its contents. There in his hand, glistening in the Kentucky moonlight, was the gold clip with the gems intact. Bunny’s aunt had fashioned the clip years ago to hide the gems on her dress in plain sight. Her plan had been pure genius.
Clasping his chest, Walter gasped, “I finally hit the jackpot! I found them! I found them, Bunny!” He shook the bag again, and out fell Lady Elsmere’s emerald necklace.
Walter was still rejoicing in his good fortune when he collapsed on the ground, gripping the clip with one hand and his chest with the other.
Poor Walter.
He didn’t realize he was having a heart attack. As he pulled off the night goggles, he murmured, “Oh, God, what’s happening to me?”
No one was there to respond. Only the sound of his voice drifted on a gentle breeze up to the treetops, and blended in with the mournful howl at the moon from a lonely dog in the distance.
52
I read in the paper that Walter Neff had suffered a severe heart attack and had been discovered beneath some bushes in one of the Hilltop Manor gardens. The person who called 911 did not identify himself, nor could the police trace the call.
In addition to the heart attack, Walter had sustained numerous bee stings, two broken fingers, which the doctor assumed occurred when he fell, but he couldn’t explain why the EMTs had found Walter with his hoodie unzipped, his belt unbuckled, and lying prone on his back as if someone had been performing CPR on him.
Next to Walter were a pair of night goggles and an empty red canvas bag. Nothing else of value was discovered.
The newspaper article did not offer an explanation as to why Walter Neff might have been prowling Hilltop Manor’s grounds. The article closed by stating that Walter was conscious, but still expected to remain in ICU for some time.
I put down the paper and called Goetz, but he said he couldn’t tell me anything, reminding me that since he had retired, he was out of the loop.
I knew he was lying, but decided not to press the issue.
Walter had no kin, so I knew I should probably be the one to check on him–not that I wanted to do so. Walter was a pain in the tuckus, but he was alone and down on his luck. I also wanted to ask him about the red canvas bag.
The police might not have a clue why Walter was rooting around the grounds of Hilltop Manor, but I did. Reading between the lines of the newspaper story, I guessed Walter might have found the jewels, but apparently hid them before his heart attack. Or maybe . . . hmm, something else occurred . . .”
Sometimes my brain does work, and I can fit the pieces of the puzzle together. So Walter was found prone, like someone had been performing CPR.
Whom did I know who was sneaky and capable of following Walter without being detected, and also loved jewels?
I jumped up from my chair. “LIAM! LIAM! I NEED TO HAVE A LITTLE TALK WITH YOU!
53
Liam didn’t hear Josiah yell for him. He was on a plane to Europe.
“Would you like a glass of champagne, sir?” asked the solicitous first class flight attendant.
“Yes, I would,” replied Liam. He accepted the champagne and, before taking a sip, Liam looked out the window and saluted. “Thanks, Walter. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
In a few hours, Lady Elsmere, aka June Webster of Monkey’s Eyebrow, would awake to find her emerald necklace on the pillow beside her, and Josiah Reynolds would find a packet for Walter Neff in her mailbox. It contained one deep red ruby, enough to pay his medical bills and more.
Smiling, Liam settled in his comfy chair, very pleased with himself. Yes, very pleased, indeed.
1
Eight-year-old Jenny Bishop was picking up trash around the grounds of the Pink Flamingo Motel, aka the Last Chance Motel, when she happened upon a boy at the motel’s lagoon. Jenny started to say hello when she noticed the boy was throwing rocks at a manatee swimming in the warm, turquoise water.
“Hey, there. Don’t do that.”
The boy threw another rock before turning to face Jenny. “Says who?” the boy shot back.
Jenny was quick with a retort. “Says me, that’s who!”
“Why not?”
“You might hit the manatee.”
“I’m trying to hit it.” He picked up another pebble.
“Don’t,” demanded Jenny, growing angry. “That manatee comes around to swim with my mo . . . Eva. She’s very gentle.”
“I don’t care,” sneered the little boy, throwing the stone.
The manatee ducked under the water.
“You better stop!” warned Jenny.
“Who’s gonna make me?”
“I will,” replied Jenny, dropping her trash bag and balling her fists.
Eva was always reminding her to be nice to the guests, but Jenny couldn’t stand to see anything mistreated. In her anger, she completely forgot what Eva had told her.
“What’s going on here?” demanded a woman who looked suspiciously like the boy–pale, skinny, and eyes that looked like they squinted all the time, even in the shade.
“This girl was throwing rocks at that big fish out there and when I told her to stop, she started throwing rocks at me,” complained the boy to his mother.
Jenny’s mouth fell open from astonishment. She had never heard such a bald-faced lie in all her young life. “You’re a stinkin’ liar!”
The woman gasped, putting her arms around the boy protectively. “My son does not lie,” she insisted. “You are a bad girl for telling such fibs.”
“I’m not lying,” insisted Jenny, her face burning with frustration.
“What’s going on here?” asked Mary, Jenny’s grandmother, who’d emerged from behind a bungalow with fresh pool towels in her arms.
“This little girl was throwing rocks at that fish out there, and tried to put the blame on my son,” protested the mother. “And what’s more, when my son tried to stop her, she started throwing rocks at him.”
Jenny shook her head as she glanced at her grandmother.
“I see,” replied Mary, cupping her hand over her eyes to shield them from the intense sun. “Are you referring to the manatee out there?”
“Yeah, that big dumb fish,” spat out the boy.
“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll take care of this,” assured Mary.
“But . . . but,” sputtered Jenny while she was being led away by Mary. “That boy’s lying and getting away with it.”
“I know he’s lying,” replied Mary, “but it isn’t our job to correct him.”
Jenny pulled away from Mary and yelled at the boy, “Manatees are mammals, not fish, stupid!”
The little boy stuck his tongue out while his mother gave Jenny a dirty look.
“Come away, Jenny. What’s gotten into you?” admonished Mary.
“Excuse me, ladies,” came a voice from beneath a floppy hat suspended above a hammock, which was gently swaying in the breeze.
Mary and Jenny stopped and stared at the hat. Mary inquired, “Did you say something, sir? Were you talking to us?”
A thick, hairy, masculine hand lifted the floppy hat from a grizzled, tanned face. The face brightened with a warm smile and spoke. “I saw everything from here, and the little girl is telling the honest truth.”
Mary replied, “I know she is, but her stepmother owns the Pink Flamingo. It’s not our policy to contradict guests. It’s something we’re trying to teach Jenny, with varying degrees of success, it seems.”
The man sat up with surprising vigor and swung his feet onto the ground, rocking back and forth in the hammock. “Well, my good woman, I’m a guest of this motel, and it seems that you’re contradicting me right now.”
Flustered, Mary had no idea how to respond.
Jenny sassed, “That boy is just plain mean.”
“Yep, he sure as shootin’ is, little lady,” claimed the man in the floppy hat. “Something should be done about that rascal. Unfortunately, he’s my grandson.”
“No way!” blurted Jenny.
Mary pushed Jenny ahead of her. “Go to the office, Jenny. Now, scoot.”
Jenny beamed at the older man, reluctantly leaving her new champion with her grandmother.
“I’m sorry if Jenny or I offended you,” apologized Mary. “Jenny likes to help out here. She has a lot of spunk, though, and it’s an effort to keep that in check, especially of late, it seems.”
“No offense taken. My grandson has grown into a little twit because his mother indulges him too much.” The man shrugged. “I’ve tried talking to her about him, but she thinks I’m too old-fashioned to know how to raise a child in today’s complicated world.”
Mary laughed, “However did we raise our kids during those uncomplicated times of the past?”
“Yeah, life was so simple then. No problems, huh?” agreed the man, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s see. There was the Depression, WWII, Korean War, Vietnam War, Civil Rights movement, the Women’s movement, political assassinations, the oil crisis, loss of jobs overseas, and stock market crashes. How did our parents and our generation ever raise kids in such a simple world?” mocked the stranger.
Mary smiled. “Yes, parenting is sure different from when I was raising my boy. Still, children in the Keys are more independent than children on the mainland. They have to be.”
The stranger looked around the motel. “The name of the motel has been changed. Back in the day I knew it as the Last Chance Motel.”
Mary’s face softened. “Ah, you’ve been here before.”
The man stood up. He was tall, and handsome for his age. His hair was still brown and just beginning to gray at the temples. Also it was apparent that he exercised regularly.
Mary gauged him to be about her age. She felt her face flush when she realized she was actually sizing up the gentleman. She clutched the stack of pool towels a little tighter.
“I used to come here with my wife when our children were little. I can’t believe how the islands have changed. It used to be that when you came to the Keys civilization was left behind.”
“I’m afraid we’ve been discovered,” agreed Mary.
“Oh, by the way, my name is River Egan,” announced the man, holding out his hand.
Mary shifted the stack of towels so she could reach out to shake River’s hand. “My name is Mary. Jenny is my granddaughter.”
“Just Mary?”
“Just Mary.”
“Okay. Nice to meet you, Mary.”
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Egan.”
“Call me River, please.”
“All right, nice to meet you, River. Very unusual name.”
“My parents were early San Francisco beatniks.”
Mary laughed, “Really? Not hippies?”
“You make me too young. My generation was called hippies. No, my parents were before that. They were heavy into the poetry, folk music, and the coffee house scene before it was fashionable. You know, Neal Cassady, Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and that crowd. I actually have a photo at home of my mother holding me as a toddler in front of the City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco.”
“Interesting. Well, I have towels to deliver. Nice talking to you, Mr. Egan. Goodbye.”
“River, please.” He strode after her. “I’ll walk with you. Let me help you with that big stack of towels,” he said, reaching out and taking half of Mary’s towels. He walked with her toward the pool. “Is there a Mr. Mary?”
Mary pursed her lips, thinking that Mr. Egan was being intrusive. There had recently been a serious stalking incident at the Pink Flamingo that had left Mary wary of men. Fortunately the woman who had been the target of the stalker was fine and still working at the motel.
“Is there a Mrs. Egan?” asked Mary, hoping to deflect River’s line of inquiry.
“There was. She was a wonderful woman, but she passed away several years ago.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Egan.”
“What about you?”
Mary reached to take the towels from River’s arms. “Goodbye, Mr. Egan. Hope you have a wonderful stay with us,” said Mary, swerving onto another path.
“River!” the man called after her. “My name is River.”
2
Eva Hanover Bishop looked up from the front desk as Mary strode in. She held up her hand. “Heard all about it first hand from Jenny.”
“Where is she?”
“In Lillian’s apartment crying her eyes out.”
Mary gave Eva a concerned look. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that child. She’s so sensitive anymore. Look at her crossways, and she either goes into a crying jag or lashes out in anger.”
“I know what the matter is,” confided Eva. “It’s me. Ever since I married her father, she’s been different. I don’t think she’s happy with me or the situation in general.”
“Now Eva, don’t take it personally, but I do think the change has been difficult for her. New mother, new house, new bedroom, new friends. That can be a bit overwhelming for a little person.”
“A big person too,” grinned Eva.<
br />
Mary grasped Eva’s hand. “Oh, do tell me that you’re happy with my son, Eva.”
A brilliant smile exploded on Eva’s face. “Mary, I never knew that I could be this blessed. I am truly happy for the first time in my life.”
Mary relaxed. “Then be patient with Jenny. She’ll come around.”
“I hope so. I’m getting a little worried though.”
“What does Mike say?”
“Mike? He doesn’t notice. You know men. Mike’s concerned with finishing the house, getting new contracts, getting the apartment building finished so we can rent it out, and paying bills.”
“That may be part of the problem. Why don’t you and Mike take Jenny out on my new boat and spend the day having a nice picnic on the ocean?”
Eva frowned. “You know Jenny. She won’t step foot on a boat. She’s terrified of boats and the ocean.”
Mary shook her head. “Poor thing hates the ocean so much after what happened to her mother, sometimes I think we’re being cruel keeping Jenny on Key Largo.”
“I’ve thought that, too.”
“Perhaps we should send her to live with my sister in Orlando again.”
“I’m afraid if I mention it to Mike he might think that I’m trying to get rid of his daughter.”
“I see. That places you smack between a rock and a hard place, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does,” agreed Eva. “I just want to do what’s best for Jenny. I’ve even thought of taking her to a therapist, but Mike said no way.”
“Well, something needs to be done. She’s getting more sensitive and morose. I don’t want them to become permanent traits.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Eva.
“Between the two of us, we should come up with a plan in the next couple of months.”
“I think that’s doable.” Eva was relieved that she wasn’t the only one taking notice of Jenny’s irritability.
“Once we make a plan, I’ll talk to Mike, okay?”
