Pier Pressure

by Dorothy Francis

  “We’re trying to identify the man in this picture. Can you help us out?”

  Blackbeard looked at the photo briefly and shook his head. “Want me to pass it around?” He nodded to his customers. “Most of these guys are locals. Someone may know your friend.”

  Punt nodded consent and Blackbeard handed the picture to the guys at a nearby table. Finally one of them smiled up at us.

  “That’s Gus Helmer. Know him well.” He licked his lips and kissed his forefinger as he ran it over the likeness of Consuela.

  “Know where we could find him?” Punt asked. “Tonight?”

  “Might try at Shorty’s Dry Dock. Think Gus planned to take his boat in for repair. He may not be around there tonight, though.” He handed the photo back and we headed for the door. “If he is around, he might be aboard his boat—The Pink Gold,” the man called after us.

  “Thanks, fella.” Punt ordered the man a plate of oysters, paid, and we left the bar.

  “Never say I don’t take you anywhere.” Punt reached for my hand as we stepped outside, and this time I didn’t pull away. “The dry dock may be even more glamorous than The Raw Bar. I think it’s down this way and to our left. I’ve taken my boats there for repair a few times.”

  We stepped carefully over beer bottles and fast food containers as we made our way to the dry dock where boats in various stages of repair or disrepair either hung from davits or rested on sturdy foam pads. A dim bulb above a doorway glinted on black letters: SHORTY’S DRY DOCK. We threaded our way through the maze of sailboats, runabouts, and shrimpers, checking names on the sterns. Usually that’s one of my favorite pastimes. Tonight wasn’t one of those times.

  “There it is.” Punt pointed and stepped closer to a shrimper that looked as if rust might be the only thing holding it together. “The Pink Gold.”

  “Do we knock to announce our presence or just shout to anyone who might be near?”

  “Let’s try this.” Punt pulled on a salt-encrusted cord and a brass bell clanged into the silence. No response. Punt jerked the cord again, but nobody answered the summons.

  I squelched a sigh in relief. “Guess we’ll have to come back tomorrow, right?”

  “Suppose so. If Gus isn’t home, he’s not home, but first thing in the morning we’ll…”

  We were turning to leave when a guttural voice called out. “What you up to? Speak out or I’ll have the cops on you like white on rice.”

  Nineteen

  PUNT AND I both turned to face the short bulldog of a man who had appeared from nowhere, holding his right hand hidden in the pocket of a fisherman’s vest.

  “We were just leaving,” Punt said. “Looking for Shorty. Hoping he could identify the guy in a picture for us.”

  “Let’s see the picture. Don’t believe you for a minute. Somebody’s always poking around the dry docks looking to snitch a few spare parts. Well, that won’t happen tonight as long as I’m on duty.”

  I handed over the picture, and Bulldog beamed a flashlight into our eyes before he aimed it at the picture. I blinked and squinted and blinked again.

  “Consuela,” Bulldog said. “Ha. Everyone knows Consuela. She in some sort of trouble? She hate the dead broad—Margaux Ashford. Heard her say so myself. I’d not testify to that in court, though. Consuela’s my friend. She treats me well.”

  “Consuela’s our friend,” Punt said. “We needed the identity of her companion here, and we know the man’s Gus Helmer and that The Pink Gold’s his boat. We need to talk to him and we thought he might be aboard.”

  “Helmer’s not here, so be away with you and don’t come nosing around these parts again.”

  “We were just leaving,” Punt said again in an ultra-polite voice. “Pardon us for disturbing you. Rest assured, it won’t happen again.”

  Bulldog’s flashlight went out and Punt grabbed my wrist as we headed back for our car. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but Punt held me back. We moved slowly enough to let the Bulldog know we weren’t running from him, yet fast enough to get us out of there without more delay. I had visions of home. A hot shower. A soft bed.

  The Karmann’ll be there, I told myself. Punt locked it. Nobody’d dare take it, would they? Of course not. It’ll be there.

  Right. Nobody’d stolen the car, but when we tried the doors, we found them unlocked, and the lid to the glove compartment hung out like a hound’s panting tongue. Someone had entered the car. I shuddered. “Anything missing?” I asked.

  Punt snapped on the overhead light. “Registration. Flashlight. Owner’s manual. Junk. Guess everything’s here.” He closed the glove compartment then circled the car, kicking tires. No slashes. I checked the small area behind front seat. Nobody waiting there to attack us. So why were my hands shaking and my heart pounding?

  “At least they didn’t hot wire it and take off.” Punt helped me into the passenger seat then slid behind the wheel and sat leaning a bit to one side as he inserted the ignition key. A low voice at the driver’s window startled both of us. I gasped and almost choked on saliva that slid down the wrong way.

  “Give me the keys.” A male voice dripped with menace, and his beery breath filled the car.

  “Who are you?” Punt demanded. “This’s my car.”

  “This’s my fist.” The man raised his clenched hand. “Give. I want your keys.”

  “Do it,” I whispered. “Just do it.”

  Punt jangled the keys for a moment before dropping them into the stranger’s outstretched hand. “What do you want from us? You could have taken the car. Why didn’t you take it and go?”

  “Don’t want your car. Piece of junk. I want you. Both of you. Get out and follow me. Move it along.”

  “May I lock my car again? I don’t want it stolen.”

  “I didn’t steal it. I’m no thief.”

  “Someone else might be. May I lock it?”

  “Lock it.” The man laughed. “It’s a rattletrap. Don’t know who’d want it.”

  If the guy was asking for a rebuttal, he didn’t get it. Punt took his time locking the car, checking the top, checking the trunk. Then he turned toward our captor.

  “Now lead the way,” the man said. “Head toward the dry dock.”

  “Who are you?” Punt asked.

  “Call me Gus. Gus Helmer.”

  “The guy in the photo,” I said.

  “Right. I’m your guy and we need to talk. Keep walking straight ahead.”

  “We’ve already been to the dry dock,” Punt said. “A guy there asked us to leave. We didn’t touch a thing. Rang the bell at The Pink Gold. Nobody answered and we made no attempt to board.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Watchman paged me. Your car’s hard to miss, you know. I saw you park it. Everyone saw you. Lots of folks saw that picture, too. Not that it mattered to any of them.”

  “What’s going on here?” Punt demanded. “Take me with you if you want to, but how about letting my friend drive on home?”

  “Ha! Double ha! No way. Keep walking. Straight ahead.”

  Fear dragged at my feet and my tongue. I couldn’t talk and I could barely walk, but constant urging from our captor kept me moving forward. I tried not to imagine what he might have in store for us. When I slipped on a beer bottle and fell, Punt pulled me back to my feet.

  “Clumsy,” Gus said. “No drunks toss their beer bottles in your part of town?”

  Neither of us replied, and we walked on until we reached the boat.

  “Come aboard.” Gus propped a ladder against the hull and motioned Punt up first. “Okay, sister.” He bowed from the waist then pointed to the ladder.

  Holding tightly to the splintery ladder, I managed the climb and Punt gave me a hand, helping me over the gunwale and onto the deck. Gus followed us aboard and led us into a small wheelhouse that reeked of stale cigar smoke and overripe shrimp. He took the seat behind the wheel and lit a battery light. We sat silently for a few moments in the eerie glo
w before Gus spoke again.

  “I want that blowup picture,” he said, “and then I want the original.” I gave him the enlargement without argument.

  He tore it to shreds and held his hand out toward me again. “Where’s the other one?”

  “We returned it to Two Friends,” Punt said. “It belongs to them. They’ve got a picture gallery of sorts on the wall. Pics of famous people who’ve patronized the place. Maybe you’ve noticed it behind the piano on the bandstand.”

  “Don’t go there to see no pictures,” Gus said. “Go there to drink and dance with the babes. Gotta have that other picture. Where’d it come from?”

  I shrugged and looked away. It’s hard to act calm and cool when your teeth are rattling from fear and your mouth feels dry as a sand dune.

  “Don’t dummy up on me, broad. Where’d that picture come from?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said. “Bernie showed it to us and let us borrow it.”

  Punt spoke up. “Bernie said a roving photographer snapped it, tried to sell it to Two Friends. He makes a living of sorts that way, snapping candid shots, trying to get people to buy a picture of themselves visiting Key West. Bernie can probably give you the name of the photographer—probably some guy who hangs around Mallory.”

  “Why you so interested in my picture?”

  “Why’re you so interested in our interest?” Punt countered.

  Gus stood and doubled his fist. “Bastard! You trying to start trouble for me?”

  “Easy, Gus. Easy.” Punt managed to smile. “We’re not trying to start trouble for you. We’re trying to save Consuela from trouble. If she’s your friend, here’s your chance to help her out.”

  “Didn’t know she was in trouble.”

  “She may be, or she may not be. At this point it’s sort of up to you—in a way. Keely and I are hoping Consuela has an explanation for where she spent her time last Saturday night. That’s the night a killer murdered Margaux Ashford.”

  “That’s the rich-bitch broad Consuela’s always saying she hates, right? She mouths off to everyone who’ll listen about how the Ashford broad badmouthed her writing.” Gus slapped his forehead as the reason behind our visit came clear in his mind. “You telling me Consuela may be up for a murder rap?”

  “We’re not saying that at all,” I said. “If she can prove where she was between ten o’clock and midnight on that Saturday night, there’s no way she can be charged. So far Consuela’s failed to come up with an airtight alibi.”

  “I enjoy being with Consuela and I can give her an airtight alibi if you’ll make me one large promise.”

  “What kind of a promise?” Punt asked.

  “It’s like this.” Gus shrugged. “I got a steady lady friend up on Largo. Susie Lohman. Last Saturday night Susie had to go to Miami to visit her sick mama in the hospital.” Gus shrugged again, a more elaborate shrug this time. “Well, what’s a guy to do with a Saturday night and no woman?”

  “So you picked up Consuela at Two Friends.” Punt made it a statement.

  I wondered if Gus’s shoulders ever ached from over-shrugging. “Consuela there and we dance. We dance a long time.”

  “Consuela told me she had two partners,” I said.

  “She lie to you. She likes to make herself seem in big demand, but she had only one partner on Saturday night. Me. Gus Helmer. I keep Consuela well occupied all night on Saturday. You two gotta git that other picture off the wall at Two Friends. You gotta promise not to tell my Susie Consuela spent the night with me. Susie and I are getting hitched in April. If Susie ever sees that picture of me with Consuela, it’ll all be over between us.”

  I thought of many things I could say, but I said none of them. I just hoped Susie had enjoyed a good time last Saturday visiting her sick mother in Miami.

  “We’ll make a deal with you,” Punt said. “If you’ll promise to vouch for Consuela’s whereabouts last Saturday night, if that should become necessary, we’ll get that picture and place it in your hands.”

  “It’s a deal.” Gus shook Punt’s hand and escorted us from his boat. Ladders are easier to climb going up than going down, but I didn’t fall. Gus returned Punt’s car keys, and we made our way through the dark back to the car and left Land’s End Village and Gus behind us. Now Consuela had an alibi.

  Twenty

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Punt knocked on my door an hour or so before my first patient was due, and I invited him in as I hid my surprise.

  “Good morning! You’re out and about early.” I kept my voice crisp and businesslike as I tried to guess what he could want at this time of day.

  Punt pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head where they were almost lost in his thick hair as he looked directly into my eyes. “I wanted to talk to you before you opened your office. How about taking the day off?”

  I motioned him to a chair although I wanted him to leave. “I can’t afford to cancel appointments. I’ll lose clients. People depend on me and I have a stack of bills to pay before the end of the month.”

  “That one of the lifestyle differences you mentioned—you work, I play?”

  “It’s something to consider. At least I think so.”

  Punt looked out the window and changed the subject without commenting. “Detective Curry called Dad in for questioning this morning. I think they know he missed Saturday’s fishing tournament. Maybe they’ll concentrate their investigation on him for a while or maybe they won’t, but I’m guessing they’ll soon get around to you. If your name hits the newspapers as a murder suspect, what do you think that’ll do to your business?”

  “Nothing good.”

  “Right. So bail out for a day or two. Grab some vacation time.” Punt stood and began pacing.

  “I don’t have a boss to ask for vacation days.”

  “I need your help, Keely, and you need my help. If we can pinpoint Dad’s whereabouts on Saturday night, it could turn the police investigation in a different direction.”

  “What direction? I mean, I don’t think Beau’s guilty, but…I don’t want the investigation pointed my way, that’s for sure.”

  “I’d like to see Jude put under some police scrutiny. I think he planned for you to find Margaux’s body. I think he torched your house to put you under more police pressure plus some added pressure from fire investigators. Jude’s a control freak, Keely, and he lost control of you. He’s a guy who can’t stand losing. In his inimitable way, I think he’s trying to even the score by making you pay big time and in a way nobody will discover.”

  “I can’t imagine him risking his own life to ruin mine.” I’ll see you dead. Again, Jude’s threat rang in my mind. Punt continued to pace and both his movements and his words unnerved me.

  “Keely, you may be the only thing Jude ever lost. He’s sly and he’s conniving, but you know that. He’d really gloat if the police hung a murder rap on you, put you away in some slammer for life.”

  Punt voiced all the fears I had locked deep inside myself. “We don’t even know if Jude has an alibi for Saturday night. He may have one and he may have a dozen people to corroborate it. Punt, why should the police think about checking on Jude? He hasn’t done anything to make him suspect in their eyes.”

  “Maybe we can tell them a few things, but not yet. For starters, let’s find out where Dad hung out on Saturday. Close your office for the day. Let’s get started.”

  “All right. Since I only have two clients this morning, I’ll reschedule. I hope they’ll be understanding and accept makeup times.”

  I made the two calls while Punt continued pacing. Once I had rearranged my schedule, I placed the CLOSED sign in my window and drew the drapery. I disliked admitting that I looked forward to spending the morning with Punt, but before we could make more plans, the phone rang.

  “Keely Moreno speaking.”

  “It’s Jass, Keely. I hope you have a few free minutes before your first patient arrives. I need your help. It won’t take long.”

  “What’s
up? Got problems?” It wasn’t like Jass to call on a brown-thumb like me for help. Maybe she felt desperate. Or maybe she was trying to keep so busy she didn’t have time to think about the police investigation.

  “I’m getting ready to experiment with propagating some plants and I need two more hands to assist with the soil mixture. Shandy’s here helping me cut the stems and we need to get them into the potting soil quickly. It won’t take long, but we need to work fast in order to keep the cut stems from drying out.”

  “I’ll be right there, Jass. Glad you called.”

  I broke our connection and looked at Punt who scowled then shrugged.

  “Okay, do it and get it over with. I suppose you should feel flattered. She won’t let me or Dad step inside her precious greenhouse. Let me drive you over. That’ll save a little time and as soon as you finish in the greenhouse, we can go on with our plans.”

  “My plans involved working right here in my office.”

  “My plans involved changing your plans.” Punt grinned at me.

  “Jass said this job wouldn’t take long.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed Punt to his car. He had one thing right. I did feel flattered at Jass’s request. She allowed few people inside her greenhouse other than Shandy, but now that her plant had won the prize in Miami, secrecy was less important. Nobody could take that blue ribbon away from her.

  When we arrived at the greenhouse, Jass met us at the door and I saw Shandy near the potting tables. She gave me a wave and a shy nod then turned her back and busied herself with a knife, cutting stems from mature plants.

  “You’re a doll to do this for me,” Jass said. “Come on in.”

  “If I helped, would the work go faster?” Punt asked. “I’m a good twig-cutter. I can mix soil, too. You really haven’t discovered the true extent of my many and super-useful talents.”

  Jass laughed. “No thanks. I appreciate your offer, but you’re all thumbs when it comes to working with plants. Didn’t know you and Keely had plans this morning. Sorry to interrupt.”