No More Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  I needed to move. I jammed my arms into a slicker, grabbed my bag, and walked outside. A blast of wind hit me, the rain coming down at an angle pricking my face like pins and needles. The Jersey Shore was in for a drubbing. I hopped in my MC and drove to the boardwalk. I assumed on a day like this with sunbathers scared off, parking spaces might be plentiful. I was right and found a spot close to the Sandbar.

  Grody had battened down the restaurant—removing the tables and chairs from the sand and lowering the plastic, see-through shades that ran around the perimeter of the restaurant.

  “You’re expecting the worst?” I asked after settling into a table by the bar.

  He studied the gray sky, the relentless rain. “The weather report’s not so hot.”

  I shuddered. The wind whipped debris off the boardwalk, sent the warning red flags on the beach flapping: Danger. No Swimming.

  “We could get fifty-mile-an-hour gusts tonight. Three or four inches of water.” He nodded grimly. “A good evening to stay in.”

  I speculated about the theater festival. What kind of crowd could they get for the awards event tonight? At least the Etonville group would be here to applaud, especially if Arsenic and Old Lace won something for their efforts. Though I had my doubts after Abby’s and Edna’s tap routine. With few customers, Grody tried to keep himself occupied, wiping clean tables and studying inventory sheets. He joined me.

  “Were you ever on Vinnie’s charter boat?” I asked.

  “The Bounty? No. I’ve been on other luxury charters, though.”

  “What are they like?”

  “What you’d expect. A bunch of guys drinking and fishing for hours on end.”

  “I was aboard The Bounty…”

  Grody cocked an eyebrow.

  “Don’t ask. The cabin was gorgeous. A beautiful galley with stainless steel appliances, a plush salon with a huge flat screen TV, dining room seating for eight. Two luxury staterooms. It didn’t seem like the kind of place for a beer and burgers gang,” I observed.

  “It wasn’t. A full day of fishing can run a couple thousand. You add up six to eight guys, and Vinnie was pulling in big bucks.”

  Vinnie and his partners, Sam and Arlene. “What about the food and drink?”

  “Mostly catered. I did a few charters earlier this summer. No-expense-spared seafood buffets. And the liquor? Top-shelf booze and champagne,” he said.

  I marveled again how Vinnie’s fortunes had changed since his days with Jackson. These fishing excursions were not for the average visit-the-shore-for-a-day-of-fishing Joe. No wonder Sam got involved. A lot of money to be made. “And the clients?”

  Grody rubbed a thumb and index finger together. “Loaded. Some trips are corporate events. Getaway days as rewards for work well done. I even catered a bachelor party. That was interesting.” He grinned.

  Rich clients that Vinnie kept track of in a black book.

  “…for Bill?” Grody asked.

  I’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Sorry?”

  “I said are you eating or waiting for Bill?” Grody went behind the bar and drew a seltzer for me. “I have blackened grouper we’re featuring for lunch.” He cast a glance out the front of the restaurant, where the boardwalk was empty, the rain falling, though with less force than earlier. The wind still blustered.

  “I’m not sure.” I hesitated. Bill had been so unreliable these past few days. Now that his BMW was recovered, we could get back to our vacation. His response to my text wasn’t encouraging: on my way but start without me. Judging from his recent efforts to meet up, “on his way” could mean anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours. I texted Lola: join me at the Sandbar?

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Lola blew in, huddled in her Eddie Bauer trench coat, blond hair in a tight chignon. As usual, she could have strolled off a runway instead of the boardwalk. “Whew. If this keeps up, we’ll have to swim to the theater tonight.” She plopped down beside me. “Do you think it’s too early for wine?”

  I chortled. Something hot was more my speed at the moment. On days like this I used to love to eat hot chowder or lobster bisque while watching fishermen bring in their catch. “Everyone hopeful for the awards ceremony?”

  Lola removed her raincoat. “I spent the morning coaxing Walter to calm down. He’s certain we have a chance, which I doubt, but if we do win something, he might need to make an acceptance speech.” She exhaled loudly. “Dealing with his anxiety is a full-time occupation.”

  “Walter likes making curtain speeches. Why is this any different? I realize it’s not about someone’s death. He’d still be the focus of attention.”

  “I think it’s about getting up in front of his peers. He has a streak of insecurity,” she said knowingly.

  A server brought chowder for me, a chardonnay for Lola. She took a big gulp. Then leaned across the table. “What’s happening with Jackson? Any news on the investigation front?”

  I filled her in on the car theft raid, including the arrest of Tiny, who was known to Vinnie and Sam Baldwin, and she sat there stunned. “At least Bill recovered his car. But what does it mean about Vinnie?”

  “Not a clue.” I kept the black book to myself. The fewer who knew about its existence at this point, the better. “I suppose if the cops get Tiny to talk there could be hell to pay for his accomplices.”

  “Umm.” Lola rested her chin on her palm. “It’s so strange. Sam’s the patron of a theater festival and potentially a criminal. Stealing cars…he doesn’t seem the type. Of course, my judgment of men hasn’t been so hot lately.”

  “Looks are deceiving. Take Jackson…”

  Lola grinned. “I’d like to!”

  Geez. “Years ago, he couldn’t feed himself, never mind feed anyone else. Now he’s a gourmet chef!”

  “I hope his lawyer is on the ball,” Lola said, serious.

  “He’s certainly got some terrific credentials.”

  A blast of air whooshed into the restaurant, sending menus and napkins flying. “Praying we get an audience tonight,” Lola said.

  We ate our blackened grouper on freshly baked rolls. They were delicious, we told Grody, who looked lost at the absence of customers. I knew how he felt; I’d been there in my early days at the Windjammer restaurant. Lola and I finished our lunch and, since Bill hadn’t shown up, I elected to head back to the bungalow and take a nap until showtime. Or until Pauli called with more information. I dropped Lola off at the Windward, telling her to break a leg, and drove to my house, plowing through puddles. Some streets had flooded, and I zigzagged to avoid standing water in the roadway. I pulled into our driveway and ran to the porch to get out of the weather.

  I inserted my key into the lock on the house door. Without turning the key, the door opened. I stiffened. “Hello? Bill? Jackson?” The house was dark. Empty. Shivers ran down my spine. I crept inside, and from where I stood, I could see that the living room had been tossed: furniture rearranged, sofa cushions dumped on the floor. Whoever had broken in this time had not bothered to cover their tracks by neatly placing objects in their rightful locations as they’d done with Jackson’s clothing. I hated to think what else had been disturbed.

  I fumbled through my bag for my cell phone. This warranted 911. My hand wobbled as I tapped on the numbers and relayed the information and my address. I was told the police would respond shortly. I stuck my head in the kitchen. Cupboard doors were open, contents of some shelves thrown on the counter.

  I heard, but couldn’t see, the screen door open. My chest tightened. I reached in my bag for my key ring container of pepper spray with one hand and clutched a skillet off the stove with the other. I was ready.

  Footsteps thumped on the porch and moved into the house. My hands were damp. I raised the skillet and pepper spray and held them in front of me. Someone was feet away.

  “Arrgh!” I y
elled and swung the skillet.

  “Dodie!” An arm shot out and grabbed mine. “What’s going on!” Bill yelled.

  Reinforcements had arrived. I collapsed on the floor, smashing my pan against the tile. “It’s about time,” I said. “Where have you been? Someone broke in and trashed the living room—”

  “—I can see that.” He put an arm around me.

  “—I can’t imagine what they did to the bedroom.”

  “Stay here.” He hurried down the hall, then came back quickly. “Some cleaning up to do in there,” he said grimly.

  Flashing blue and red lights caught his attention. “You called 911? Good. Someone was hunting for something. Any idea what?” he asked as the officers entered the house.

  * * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the two Candle Beach cops who’d interrogated Jackson only days ago stood in the living room wrapping up the interview.

  “We’ll have a crew dust for fingerprints, but these types are careful and use gloves,” said the tall, wiry cop. He made no reference to Jackson or my visit to the CBPD after Jackson’s arrest.

  “We’ve had some other break-ins in Candle Beach this summer,” said the younger, friendly one. He made no reference to our conversation on the boardwalk.

  “I assume the perp was searching for something.” Bill looked at me.

  “It’s summer. Tourists. People get careless and leave money and valuables lying around,” the older officer said. “Keep your door locked. Put valuables out of sight.”

  I wanted to scream. The doors were locked and there was nothing of value to steal except for Jackson’s thousand dollars and the perp had already bypassed that. My instincts told me someone thought I had the black book and was desperate to find it. Pauli! He was in danger as long as the book was in his possession.

  Bill walked the cops to the door and thanked them for coming. They assured him a CSI unit would be on the premises within the hour and asked that we not disturb anything. The front door closed.

  “What’s going on?” Bill asked me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What are you not telling me? If I know you, and I think I do, this has something to do with Jackson’s arrest,” he said.

  Why was I so hesitant to come clean? Because the moment I did, the black book and any hope of finding Vinnie’s murderer would vanish. The state was bent on convicting Jackson; Jackson’s lawyer was bent on getting him acquitted. Who cared about Vinnie?

  “What are you not telling me?” I asked. With Bill, a good offense was the best defense.

  He regarded me warily. “You have something you want to ask me?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I got to the Sandbar after you left. There’s flooding on Route 195. I had to take the long way back here—”

  “I don’t mean today. I mean all week. You’ve been pulling a disappearing act ever since the BMW was stolen. I know you were helping out the state unit and wanted to be in on the raid, but why did they target your car? How did they get it so easily? I can see how if a driver left keys in the ignition…”

  Bill was silent. My neck hairs stood ramrod straight.

  “Did you…leave the keys in your car purposefully?” My voice flew up an octave. “Were you a part of a sting to capture the thieves?”

  “I intended to tell you the whole story once the assignment was over. I should have known you’d work it out,” he said ruefully.

  “Assignment?” Whoa!

  “I have a buddy on the state task force investigating these car theft rings. Especially in the shore area. So when he heard I drove a BMW and was going to be down here…” Bill sat next to me. “I agreed to install a GPS tracking device so when or if the BMW was lifted, there would be a trail. Dodie, it was a crap shoot. A number of other luxury cars were used as bait too. My luck the Candle Beach crew fell in love with a gold BMW.”

  I was gobsmacked. Bill was playing cop while also playing the aggrieved car owner. “You’re a pretty talented actor,” I said crisply. I wanted to be justifiably annoyed at being left in the dark. I couldn’t, considering what I hadn’t told him about my snooping around: the warehouse, the black book, Tiny, The Bounty, the ice pick—

  “Sorry. I hate to keep things from you,” he said. “The task force kept everything under wraps. No leaks.”

  Now I felt guilty. I had to get out of this conversation. “No problem. Do you mind hanging around for the CSI techs? They’d rather talk with you anyway.” I smiled sweetly.

  “Where are you going in this weather?”

  “I told Lola I’d pick her up at the hotel and we’d go to the theater together.” Did that make sense?

  “It’s not even four o’clock. The show’s at what…seven thirty?”

  “She wants to talk about the ELT season for next year.” I found my bag on the kitchen floor. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  “I didn’t plan on going to the theater tonight. We can hunker down with dinner and wine and Netflix. And then see what happens…” He put his arms around me and laid a big one on my lips.

  Talk about feeling torn. “I’ll leave as soon as I can. Meet you back here,” I said.

  “This is no night to be out wandering around—”

  I waved good-bye and darted out of the house.

  “Dodie?”

  I had to find Pauli.

  17

  The wind died down, and the rain eased up during the hour I was in the bungalow with Bill and the Candle Beach police officers. I sent a prayer of thanks to the weather gods—the theater festival might be able to forge ahead with the awards as planned. Regardless of tonight’s entertainment, I had to find a safe haven for Pauli for the next few hours. Or until something broke with his algorithm. I couldn’t take the chance that the same person who’d assumed I had the black book had been keeping tabs on me and somehow found out that it was now with Pauli. There was one place that served my purposes. The theater. But how to get Pauli to stay there without freaking him out by warning him about the possible danger?

  I guided my MINI Cooper through the run-off on the streets to the Windward. I parked and hurried to Lola’s room. I heard a babble of voices on the other side of the door. Then a loud cheer. I knocked. The door swung open and everyone greeted me.

  “Dodie, you’re dripping wet.” Lola.

  “Come on in!” Carol.

  “Get in the game.” Mildred.

  “I’m winning!” Edna.

  “O’Dell, got any money?” Penny.

  Apparently, I’d created monsters in the spring when I undertook teaching this crew poker. A table and chairs had been set up in the center of Lola’s room and the five of them were having a high old time. Stacks of poker chips were piled in front of each player, a dish of coins off to the side. Penny shuffled the cards.

  “A high-stakes game,” I said.

  Mildred giggled. “Nickels and dimes.”

  “The way I’m winning, there’ll be some 10-67s before dinner,” Edna said.

  “What’s that?” Lola asked.

  “People needing help,” Edna answered with a cackle.

  “Dodie, you want to play?” asked Lola.

  “No thanks. Actually, I want to see Pauli.”

  Carol stacked her chips. “Why? He’s in our room.”

  My brain tap-danced. “I need to…talk about the Windjammer’s website,” I finished lamely. My go-to excuse whenever I had to confer with her son.

  Penny dealt the cards. “Ante up.”

  Carol placed a chip in the center of the table. “He’s probably Instagramming or texting or whatever. He misses Janice. I’m glad he has that laptop with him. He’d be lost without it.”

  If she only knew. Jackson and I would be lost too.

  “Seven-card stud, aces wild, low diamond in the hole splits the pot,” Pe
nny announced.

  “Be right back,” I said. No one noticed.

  Across the hall I paused before tapping on Pauli’s door. I took a breath to settle myself. I didn’t want to alarm him unnecessarily. Pauli opened the door. “Hey.” He looked over my shoulder. “Mom’s with Lola. Playing poker.”

  I slipped into the room and closed the door. “Any more luck with the black book?”

  “Like, I’m running an algorithm. But ten of the guys have records.”

  “They do?” We were getting somewhere.

  “Mostly parking tickets, moving violations, and like one breaking and entering. His own home.” Pauli snickered.

  Maybe not… Trying to find information that connected these names was like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. “Keep at it.”

  Pauli nodded.

  I stalled. “Are you thinking of coming to the theater tonight?”

  “Nah. Seen it all a bunch of times. You think the ELT has any chance of winning?” He looked doubtful.

  “I don’t really think so. Unless the Etonville crowd stuffed the ballot box.”

  Pauli guffawed. “Right.”

  “How’s Janice?” I asked.

  His face brightened. “Like good. She gets back Labor Day.”

  “Guess you’ve missed her,” I said.

  He blushed. “Guess so.”

  Young love…nice that Pauli and Janice found each other. When all of my friends in the sixth grade were “in love,” and I wasn’t, Mom assured me that love wasn’t something you found. It was something that found you. Is that what happened to Bill and me?

  The door opened. Carol and Lola bounded in. “Edna called a Code 7—”

  “Meal break,” said Lola.

  Five o’clock. I had to think of something fast. I caught Lola’s eye and motioned to the hallway. She signaled she understood.

  “I’ll grab my purse and meet you in the lobby,” she said to Carol.