The dining room at the Jekyll Island Club Hotel was full with a half-hour wait for a table. They directed him to Crane Cottage, only a short walk away. A table had opened up in the courtyard. He checked the menu and chose a shrimp dish and an iced tea, then looked around at the setting. He sat under the second floor balcony overhang which surrounded a center courtyard housing a fountain bubbling gleefully on this sunny day. The doors behind him led to an inside dining area. While he waited for his food, he told the waiter he wanted to walk around a bit. He entered the cottage, more of a small mansion, and walked through the room to the doors beyond. They led into a small garden and patio. Beyond, the lawn with its giant live oaks stretched down to the water. Across the expanse of blue lay Brunswick, Georgia. Another world, he thought, one he wanted to avoid. He shook free of his thoughts and returned to his table. The waiter set his plate in front of him, but before he could take a bite of the food, he heard a familiar voice.
“I thought this was a classy place.” Emily hovered over his table, her blonde hair blowing free in the afternoon breeze. He froze mid bite and looked up expecting to see those blue eyes looking at him with disgust. To his surprise, there was a twinkle in them.
“You got the last table, but I told the waiter we knew you, and you wouldn’t mind if we shared.”
The waiter laid another two place settings and pulled out the chairs for the women. Lewis still held his fork mid air, piled high with sweet Georgia white shrimp.
“Don’t mind us. Go ahead and eat.” Emily waved her hand dismissively at him. “Oh, and we’d like to see a wine list.” The waiter scurried off.
Emily smiled. “I know you’re on duty and won’t be able to have the wine, but this is our vacation.”
“I’m being used, aren’t I? You’re only being nice because you want my table. Right?”
“Of course.” She continued to smile while Naomi looked embarrassed.
“Oh, tell him the news, would you?” said Naomi.
“He might not be interested. After all, he has other informants who work for him. And we were told not to butt in.”
Lewis put down his fork very carefully as if he were controlling an anger which if let go might result in his throwing the food across the room.
Emily seemed to read his mood and shook her finger at him. “I wouldn’t do that, not if you want to stay on this island. They are very picky about manners here.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. What news?”
“If our victim hadn’t been stabbed and sauced, he would have died anyway. Someone was poisoning him.”
Chapter 5
Lewis’s expression on hearing the news was not a happy one. Hmm, thought Emily. He should be delighted with the information. It might make solving the case a lot easier.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“Where did you hear this?”
“I’ve got my sources.” Emily looked up from the wine list and gave him smug smile.
“That’s the problem. You have sources you shouldn’t have.” He tossed his fork onto the plate and signaled the waiter.
“You’re sore because I know something you don’t.”
The waiter hurried over to the table. Naomi slid down in her chair.
“Sit up, honey. If not because you have nothing to be ashamed of, then at least because this is a classy joint. It wouldn’t look good to have you lying on the floor.”
“Check,” Lewis said, his voice crisp.
“Don’t you want to know what I know?”
“I can call in and find out.”
“But I’m here and so eager to be of help.” Emily batted her blue eyes at him.
Lewis looked around for the waiter again, but he was taking an order at another table. “How do you get people to move around here?”
“Relax, and let me fill you in.” Emily could hardly contain herself. For once it appeared she knew more about a case than he did.
“I told you. I’ll simply call in and get the story.” He stood, scanning the room for the waiter.
“Oh, come on, Detective Lewis. Let my mom tell you what she knows. Don’t be a spoilsport and ruin her entire day.”
Lewis slipped into his chair again. “Fine. I give up.”
Triumph radiated from Emily’s face. It felt so good to get her way just once with this guy. This really sexy guy. This really handsome, smart, desirable…
“So get on with the story if you must. These fancy chairs are hard on my butt.”
“Okay then. Clara called me and told me.”
“How the hell would Clara know anything?”
“If you keep interrupting me, I’ll simply stop talking.”
Lewis grabbed his spoon and began tapping it on the tablecloth. Emily shot him one of her teacher’s looks. He stopped and placed the spoon very carefully back to the right of his dinner plate.
“Clara, who plays poker with the medical examiner and some other prominent citizens on Tuesday nights, told me he thought the victim was yellowish looking because of all the sauce on him, that it kind of dyed him an orange-yellow color, but after they washed him down good, the color remained and his eyes were yellow too. So guess what? It was…”
“Something he ate? Too much to drink?” Lewis eyes twinkled with a note of triumph.
Emily looked mollified for a moment, then shook her head and raced on. “Right. Rat poison. How appropriate. His liver was affected.”
“He could have had liver disease or been an alcoholic. Why jump to poison?” asked Lewis.
The waiter arrived with his check, but Lewis waved him away. “I’d like a coffee.”
“Oh, I thought you were asking for the check, sir.”
“I changed my mind. The lady’s got me captivated with her story.”
Emily’s eyes danced at the word “captivated”. “Really? You want me to continue?”
“Sure. This will save me a lot of time.”
“Clara heard that he ran around on his wife, so it’s pretty clear to me what with the apple in his mouth and the sauce, you should take a look at her. You know, as in he was a ‘pig’.”
“So do you like her for the bop on the head that killed him or the poison that would have?”
“Both. She got tired of waiting, so she hit him and ended it then.”
Lewis shoved his chair back and glanced across the room. By the contemplative look on his face, she knew he was seriously considering her theory.
“Be back in a jiffy. I’ve got to talk to someone.” He threw his napkin on the table and once again strode into the dining room and through the doors opening into the garden.
Okay. So I’m wrong, thought Emily. He thinks my idea is idiotic.
“How rude,” she said to Naomi. “And don’t you tell me I was being rude too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Naomi.
The waiter served Lewis’ coffee and took Naomi and Emily’s wine and entree order. Several minutes passed, and no sign of Lewis. The waiter returned with the wine and their salads. They talked about plans for the next day. When the waiter stopped by the table to say their entrees were on the way, Emily got out of her chair.
“I’m going to find out what he’s up to.”
She entered the dining room and started toward the open door to the garden beyond. She could see two men engaged in conversation in the shade of one of the palms. The sun in her eyes blinded her. She approached, careful to hide herself behind the statue at the garden’s edge. She recognized Lewis as one of the men. The other was short and fat. The breeze off the water blew the smell of chewing tobacco her way, and she retreated back into the dining room.
“Find him?” asked Naomi.
“Yep,” said Emily. “Do you believe that man? He left our table to talk with that scumbag, Toby.”
“What were they meeting about?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t want to get close enough for Toby to see me. I hope Lewis is smart enough not to tell him we’re here.”
“Oh, Mom, of c
ourse he would keep our being here a secret. He knows Toby holds you and me responsible for his getting caught.”
The waiter placed a dish of succulent white Georgia shrimp in garlic cream sauce in front of Emily, and she immediately forgot about Toby as she lifted a forkful to her mouth. She moaned with pure pleasure at the taste of the sea and the pungent aroma of garlic and herbs.
“Is that a sigh of welcome that I’m back?”
Emily looked up at Lewis who leaned down to catch a whiff of her shrimp. Their noses bumped, and both pulled back.
“Drink your coffee,” Emily said. “For awhile there I thought we were going to have to pay your bill.”
“So you came looking for me.”
“Did not.” She spoke through the mouthful of shrimp and pasta, hoping the food would help obviate her lie.
“I saw you out of the corner of my eye. I hope Toby didn’t. Emily, why do you have to take chances all the time? It’s as if you’re trying to make up for your earlier safe life as a preschool teacher. Why can’t you let me do my job? Or do you think I’m not up to it?”
“Of course you are.” Naomi reached out and patted his arm.
Lewis sat again and took a sip of his coffee. “See there. Your daughter has confidence in me.”
“Of course, we did help you out on your last case,” Naomi said. “A lot.”
“Yes, you did.” Lewis seemed to have gotten control of his irritation at Emily. “Your theory about the wife killing her husband is absurd, however.”
“Why is that?” Emily ran a piece of bread around the sauce left on her plate.
“You forget. She was in the vet’s office having her dog treated for fleas.” Lewis grimaced and reached down to scratch at his ankle.
Emily swallowed her food. “I guess the cure didn’t work. So how’re you doing with that, Detective? You flea free now?”
Toby slid back onto the seat of the bicycle he’d rented and pedaled out of the historic village district and down the road past the old tabby ruin of what was once a fine plantation home. He barely gave it a glance. He wasn’t here to sightsee. He had a job to do; well, he had some work he thought others might be able to do for him if he played the system right. As he always did. He smiled to himself thinking back on all his schemes. And then his smile slid off his face when he thought about how Detective Lewis and that little northern gal and her daughter got in his way. The big lake country would still be Toby Sands’ domain if it hadn’t been for them, Toby told himself. Well, this time he’d fix them.
He thought about what Detective Lewis had to offer him if he did as Lewis suggested and insinuated his way into acceptance among the barbequers—a reduced sentence when he came to trial, a deal with the state, maybe only probation. Toby moved his tongue over the chaw of tobacco between his lips and teeth. Well, it damn well wasn’t enough, he thought.
The wind blew out of the south toward Toby as he struggled with the bicycle. It saved on gas and was a dandy way to get around the island, but it required work, especially in a head wind. He continued to work his way toward the far southern end of the island where the fishing boats docked. Money beckoned him. The thought of it made him pedal faster.
A pleasure sailer, a sloop of about thirty-five feet sat at the end of the docks. Even Toby could see she was a beauty with polished teak decking, her hull painted a Mediterranean blue. Everything about her spoke of places of romance and intrigue. Toby took a second look at her when he approached the man standing on the dock at her berth.
“I see you’re impressed with my boat,” he said.
“Oh, right. She’s great. I guess. Now about this deal…”
“A man of business, I see. Get right to it. Come below.”
The man, dressed in khaki shorts and a silk knit shirt let his glance travel over Toby. A scowl found its way onto his face. Toby noticed the man’s expression and his words did not match. He was distracted by the thought of money to the exclusion of almost all else until a note of warning popped into the part of Toby’s brain he used most, the reptilian old brain, the part that gave fight and flight signals. The other “F” signal rarely presented itself any longer. What might appear to be simply a rich European playboy sailing the world to others didn’t fool Toby. The man’s eyes gave him away. Toby had seen eyes like that before, on drug dealers, murderers and extortionists. This man was all of those and more. For a moment Toby had second thoughts about dealing with him. Not that he was out of the stranger’s league, thought Toby, but he’d have to be extra cautious when it came to getting his share of the pot. Extra careful.
“I’m not real crazy about being on boats. I get seasick.”
The man laughed. “I’m not offering you a pleasure cruise, just a meeting place.”
“I get sick even when tied up to the dock.”
The man scrutinized Toby for a few minutes, seemed to come to some conclusion in Toby’s favor, and shrugged. “I’m not taping this conversation, you know. I’m not a cop. Like you were.”
The words put Toby on notice. The guy knew too much about him. Toby was right to ask for a place to talk where they could be seen by others. A crawling sensation worked its way up Toby’s back and around his neck. Extra careful, Toby, he said to himself.
The man gestured to some seats located in a shady area near the restaurant and bar. At this time of day, few strolled the shady area, and the noise of people dining at the restaurant drowned out their conversation to curious passersby.
“I’m Toby. I guess you figured that out. What do I call you?”
The man laughed, but although it sounded like a laugh to Toby, when he looked at the man, nothing about his face said he found humor in the situation.
“Mr. Smith.”
“Now it’s my turn to laugh.” Toby did, but he stopped short when he saw the man’s eyes go dark and cold. “Fine then. Mr. Smith it is.”
“I’m in touch with your friend, a man for whom you worked a job in the past. He’d like you and me to do some work for him.”
Toby nodded. He understood. The friend, Barry Montrose, also an ex-cop had contacted Toby by phone and let him know some of the details of the job. Toby wanted to know more.
“And how do you figure into this?” asked Toby. As quickly as he asked it, he knew it was a mistake.
Smith reached out and grabbed Toby’s arm with the powerful grip of a bull alligator. The sensation was so painful, Toby was convinced his arm would be permanently paralyzed. He felt lucky he hadn’t been death rolled and left at the bottom of the bay.
“Don’t ask questions. You’re being paid, aren’t you?” Smith let go.
Toby rubbed his arm, and the feeling slowly returned, but when he looked at it, the impression of finger marks remained. That’s gonna hurt for a while and turn ugly colors, thought Toby.
“Last time I didn’t get all my money from my friend, so I’d like a gesture of good will on this one. Up front.” He knew he was taking a foolish chance demanding anything of this character. The continuous throbbing in his arm reminded him of that, but Toby had to be smart about how he spent his time. He had too many deals all interconnected to let any one of them go south. Yep, thought Toby. He was a real criminal multi-tasker.
Smith said nothing at first, merely looked at Toby like he was lower than a nematode.
“I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“You’ve got that nice boat there.” Toby nodded in the direction of the sloop. “I understand Barry wants you to take some people for a ride.”
Smith smiled. This time his eyes twinkled as if he’d found something terribly amusing in Toby’s words. “That’s not all, is it?”
“These people will find their way into the hands of some traders in North Africa.” Toby emphasized his seriousness by spitting onto the gravel at their feet. Some of the juice splattered onto Smith’s expensive dock shoes, leaving a brown spot on the left one. Smith looked down and said nothing. He left the bench and headed back down to the dock area. Before he ste
pped onto his boat, he glanced back at Toby.
“You’ll pay for the shoe,” he said.
Toby knew he would. He just wasn’t sure how.
Toby didn’t feel comfortable dealing with Mr. Smith. His brain ached with the questions and concerns he had with this job. He liked things simple, and this was shaping up to be anything but simple. Why couldn’t he have direct contact with Barry, face to face? When he and Barry had worked together before in an unsuccessful scheme to kidnap his wife, Toby had kept his mouth shut about it. Why say anything bad about the guy to the authorities especially if it implicated Toby? Toby knew Barry was lying low, and he also suspected Barry was nursing a grudge against the now ex-wife and her mother, a grudge as big as Toby’s against Lewis. And Smith. Why Smith? A shudder worked its way up his spine. Smith wasn’t someone to play around with.
As Toby pedaled down the dirt road leading away from the docks, he could feel Smith’s eyes on his back. Only when he turned onto the bike path leading along the shoreline and northward toward the convention center did Toby shake himself free of the sensation of having been trapped like a mouse by a deadly snake. The reptile had let him go, but only for awhile. Smith was playing with him. It was what he did. He did it well.
The wind increased in velocity and had shifted direction. Instead of picking up a tail wind as he had hoped, he was again heading into the blow. This time he didn’t spit his tobacco. Despite the size of the chaw, his mouth felt dry. A dust devil touched down on the path just as his front wheel crossed through it. The bike wobbled for a moment and toppled, throwing Toby onto the graveled surface. He hit head first and was unable to pick himself up because his foot had become entangled in the front spokes. He flailed around on the ground, but his arms were too short to reach down over his large belly and free his ankle. He lay there for a minute, like an upended turtle, then began thrashing around once more. This time foul words accompanied his gyrations. They did not help, so again he flopped back onto his side and began to cry softly. Life was hell, he thought to himself.
Grilled, Chilled and Killed Page 4
