LIVE Ammo (Sunshine State Mystery Series Book 2)

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  Allie shrugged.

  “Times probably six apartments a floor. Two to four people to a condo. That’s conservatively a couple of hundred people moving in on either side of you.”

  Allie could see where she was going, and she didn’t like it. “But—”

  “Hey, it’s your choice, but I think another three hundred or so people on this tiny stretch of beach might eventually take a bit of the bloom off your real estate rose.”

  They sat in silence. Finally, Allie said, “It was my aunt’s house.”

  “She’d want what’s best for you.”

  Allie looked over in surprise. “Did you know her?”

  Myrna cocked her head. “No, but if she loved you enough to drop this property in your lap, then she loved you enough to want what’s best for you.”

  Another silence. Then, Allie turned toward Myrna. “Did my brother put you up to coming over here?”

  That got more of a laugh than Allie thought it deserved. Myrna wiped her eyes. “No, actually, I came over to tell you congratulations.”

  “On what?”

  Myrna held out an envelope. “You’ve been officially named the Brevard Sun’s only full-time investigative reporter. The board just approved it.”

  “Me?” Allie squeaked, looking at the envelope as if it were a snake. “I’m not an investigative reporter.”

  Myrna dropped the envelope on the table. “You’re a reporter for the Sun, and you’re investigating. That makes it official.” Myrna looked uncomfortable. “The—uh—promotion comes with a commensurate raise in salary.”

  Allie stood up so suddenly her chair almost went over backward. “A raise? Are you crazy? I don’t earn my salary now.”

  “The board thinks you do.”

  Allie snorted. “The board thinks what you tell them to think.”

  Myrna couldn’t completely disguise the smile tugging at her lips. “Whatever. And I’ll need a deposit slip.”

  Allie crossed her arms across her chest. “What for?”

  “We don’t want you uneasy. I figure I’ll set up direct deposit for you, and you’ll never see any of that money you don’t think you earn.”

  “Myrna,” Allie said, sitting back down, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I don’t want a title, and I don’t want a raise. I don’t need the money. I’m serious. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

  Myrna pressed her lips together for a minute. Then, serious, she said, “I have a feeling you will before all this is over,” she said, getting to her feet. “I also came to invite you to have dinner with me.”

  Allie inhaled sharply and looked at her bare wrist. “What time is it?”

  “It’s not that late—”

  “No, I’m supposed to be somewhere at seven-thirty.”

  Myrna looked at her watch. “Well, I hope it’s close by because you have exactly six minutes to get there.”

  Allie ran into the house. She grabbed the brush on her bathroom sink and ran it through her tangled hair. As she leaned over to splash water on her face, she caught sight of Myrna’s expression in the mirror over the sink. She looked—lonely. Allie remembered that Myrna had no family to speak of in the area. Her son and daughter both lived in Miami, and Myrna wasn’t close to either. Allie had never heard her talk about any friends. She spent most of her time at the paper. She couldn’t have much of a life.

  “Come with me,” she said. “It’s just down the street. Sheryl Levine—”

  “Ernie’s ex?”

  She knew Ernie? “Right. She and Mrs. Odum invited me to dinner. You can share my portion. They’d love to have you.”

  A smile spread across Myrna’s face. “Libby? I haven’t seen her in years.”

  Allie hadn’t known the women even knew each other. “She lives there now. She just moved in yesterday.” She raced past Myrna into the bedroom and slipped on her shoes. “So?”

  Myrna only hesitated for a minute. “You’re on. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Allie grabbed up Spook and a can of food. She’d have to feed him over at Sheryl’s place.

  Allie saw the difference the minute she stepped inside. Sheryl’s house was laid out much like Allie’s, except that there was more square footage, but until now, the décor had been Spartan. Now, the look was softened by very un-Sheryl-like touches everywhere she looked. Pillows and a soft woolen throw on the sofa, pictures on the walls. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the middle of the dining room table. No boxes were in sight, and it looked immaculate.

  The look of delight on Libby’s face when Allie and Myrna came through the door banished all Allie’s fears. It was like watching identical twins being reunited after years of forced separation, even though the women couldn’t have looked more different. Myrna, though short, was rounded everywhere. Libby Odum looked more like a recently sprung refuge from Auschwitz, mostly skin and bones but with hope showing around the edges. The exchanged hugs were spontaneous and sincere. Both women spoke at once.

  “I heard about your stroke—”

  “I was so sorry when I heard about Mr. Cornelius—”

  “And then losing Joe and Howard. I don’t know how you hung on.”

  “And you had to work for that Rupert Cornelius. I thought about you every day.”

  “I heard you were in a wheelchair—”

  “And now the newspaper’s about to go out of business—”

  Myrna’s eyes cut to Allie. “No, not really. We’re doing okay.”

  “But Millie Madison said—”

  “You know what an old gossip she is.” Myrna looked at Sheryl. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer around here, would you?

  Sheryl had been watching the two women like a spectator at a ping-pong match. “Sure,” she said, grinning. She looked at Libby and raised her eyebrows.

  “Sure,” Libby said. “What the hell. Myrna and I have a lot to catch up on.”

  Allie followed Sheryl into the kitchen. “What the hell?” she whispered. “And we’ve always been so careful around her.”

  Sheryl’s grin widened. “I guess she figures we’re all grown up now.” She twisted the tops off the two beers. “Our Libby might have more spunk than either of us realized.”

  Watching them together, Allie had to agree. The two women giggled like schoolgirls, their heads together as they shared secrets no one else wanted to know. Libby looked ten years younger, and even Myrna transformed into someone quite pretty. Allie sipped her beer and petted Spook while she pretended not to listen. Did girls ever grow up, she wondered. Even though their bodies matured and aged, and they were occasionally blindsided by one of life’s little challenges, did it change the essential person? She could remember feeling—not old, but ageless, perhaps—when she was ten years old. In the last seven years, she had been through a lot—a marriage, a divorce, the loss of more than one person she loved—and yet, she still felt the same inside. But without real inner change, how could one ever become wise?

  She half-expected her aunt to pipe in. She had loved the occasional philosophical discussion, but Lou had nothing to say on the subject. Sheryl asked, “What are you looking so serious about?”

  Allie looked over at her, gesturing at Libby and Myrna. “Look at the two of them. I was just wondering if we ever really grow up.”

  Sheryl eyed the women sitting across the room. “God, I hope not.”

  ***

  When Allie tried to fall asleep hours later—no easy feat because she’d slept most of the afternoon away—she remembered what Myrna had said about the board giving her a raise. She already made more than she earned. Despite all Myrna’s nonsense about Allie being the paper’s official investigative reporter, it seemed odd that they would pay her more after just a little more than a month on the job, especially if the paper was struggling right now. Unless there was some other reason for the increase in pay, some reason Myrna wasn’t willing to share with Allie.

  She turned on her other side and punched her pillow. Whatever it was,
tomorrow would be soon enough to find out.

  Chapter 15

  What little sleep Allie got was restful, and she awoke full of energy and plans. First, she’d stop by to see if she could get Rand Arbutten to talk to her. She wanted to ask him about his grandmother and the old woman’s location. If not, she’d call the sheriff.

  She fed Spook and took him for a respectable walk. She spent more time than usual on her grooming. Eye makeup. Not too heavy. She didn’t think the vamp thing would impress him. A touch of foundation to cover the freckles on her nose. Then, she rubbed it off. She wanted to look innocent. Guileless. A few freckles were good. Pink lipstick. A touch of blush. She did the same with her clothes. White slacks and a pale pink silk shirt. White sandals.

  Understated innocence—and a waste. No one answered when she knocked on the door in Merritt Island. She peeked into the closed garage. Only one car. Probably his mother’s car.

  Just to be sure, she walked around to the back at the house and peeked through the fence. No one on the deck. No one fishing in the canal. No one splashing in the pool or stretched on a lawn chair.

  As she started back around the house, she spied two young boys peeking at her from around the corner of the fence. They couldn’t have been more than six or seven, old enough to see what happened around them and innocent enough to blab about it. As she approached, one boy ran off, but the other held his ground.

  “We wasn’t doing nothin’,” he told Allie with more than a touch of belligerence, holding one hand behind his back.

  Allie realized he was the same child she saw peeking out the curtain the day of the murder. Or suicide. Whatever. Maybe he’d seen something. A quick glance at the ground showed her a little pile of sticks. Kindling, if she wasn’t mistaken. She could remember her own forays into pyromania. She grew out of it when she was not much older than this child was. And it was none of her business—unless she had to use it as blackmail.

  She smiled at the boy. “I know you weren’t,” she lied, squatting down beside him. “My name’s Allie. What’s your name?”

  He eyed her suspiciously before answering. “Butch.”

  He looked like a Butch, with his red-blonde hair falling in his eyes and the liberal sprinkling of freckles across his sunburned nose. He was dressed in denim shorts and a Florida Marlins T-shirt, with sneakers that lit up when he moved, which he did in an effort to hide the sticks at his feet. Allie was sure he was holding matches in the hand behind him. “Well, Butch, I was looking for Mr. Arbutten.”

  “He moved,” the child said.

  “You mean the sheriff moved?”

  “Yeah.” His lower lip poked out. “But he still told my mom.”

  “Told your mom what?”

  The boy seemed to realize his blunder. “Nothin’,” he said quickly.

  Maybe this wasn’t Butch’s first foray into bonfire building. Allie wasn’t about to push him. “Where do you live?” Although she knew.

  The child didn’t answer, but his eyes went to the house next door, the neighbor who hadn’t been home when Allie conducted her interviews.

  “So, you live close by. Did you see the other Mr. Arbutten? The younger one?”

  “Yeah, he went away.”

  “When?”

  “Few minutes ago.”

  Allie picked her way very carefully. “Had you seen him before today?”

  “Yeah, when that lady got dead.”

  . She struggled to keep her face impassive and her voice disinterested. “How did you know she got dead?”

  “My mom told me. She was mean.”

  “Your mom was mean?”

  “No, that old lady. The one that got dead.”

  “What did she do that was mean?”

  The boy scuffed his sneaker in the dirt. “She didn’t like me to play too close to her yard. She always yelled when I did.”

  Allie could see it in the stubbornness of his lower lip. The lady didn’t want him playing close to her yard, so that was exactly what he did. Feeling a little like the skuzzy reporters she despised, she put on her friendliest smile. “Did you see the old Mr. Arbutten the day the lady got dead?”

  The boy looked away sullenly. Clearly the wrong question. Whatever the sheriff had told his mother about, it had probably happened that day. “Then, how about the young Mr. Arbutten. The one that went away today.”

  The child’s face brightened. “Yeah, I saw him. He was out here peeking in the windows.”

  Carefully now. Very carefully. “Then what happened?”

  “Then, I heard the bang, and he ran inside.” Butch was excited now. “Then, all the policemen came, and they had sirens and everything.” His eyes widened at the memory.

  “Did you see anyone run outside after the bang?”

  The lip poked out again briefly. “Nah, my mom made me go inside. She made me watch television, but I could still hear the sirens and everyone yelling.” His face lit up like the sun on a perfect Florida day. “I peeked outside once, and there were police cars everywhere!”

  So, if Sidney had fired the shot, he could have run out without being seen.

  Allie straightened to her full height. “Thank you for telling me, Butch. I’ll bet it was exciting.”

  His eyes gleamed with the memory. Better than Law and Order, no doubt.

  Just then, a young woman rounded the house. The child took one look at her and ran the other way. Allie gave the woman a friendly wave and kicked the pile of sticks apart before heading to her car. She considered it protecting her source.

  As she climbed in the Jeep, she felt lightheaded with relief. The bang had to be the gunshot, and Rand Arbutten was outside peeking in windows when it was fired. She wasn’t sure why that meant so much to her. Probably because she could cross at least one suspect off her list.

  Next on her agenda, a trip to the newspaper office to find out what Libby Odum had meant about the paper being in trouble. She also wanted to know why Myrna was determined to pay her more when the paper probably couldn’t afford what it already paid her.

  She got her first surprise when Myrna wasn’t out front smoking a cigarette. Nor was she in the lobby, sitting at her desk. When she heard voices coming from the direction of Rupert Cornelius’s old office, she started toward it.

  At that exact moment, Myrna stepped into the hall. Seeing Allie, she quickly pulled the door closed behind her. “Good morning!” she called with more enthusiasm than Allie had ever seen her exhibit for anything except tobacco.

  Allie eyed her suspiciously. “What’s up?”

  Myrna grabbed her cigarettes and lighter off her desk. “Let’s go out front.”

  Allie followed her without a word. Once Myrna was seated on the bench, and she had lit a cigarette, she stretched her arms over her head and looked up at the sky. “God, isn’t it a beautiful day? Can you believe how cool it is? I wonder if a cold front came through last night.”

  Allie looked at her.

  “I really liked your house, even if it is small. It was so good to see Libby. It’s probably been ten years. I’m glad she’s at Sheryl’s and that she has someone around to take care of her.”

  Allie didn’t even blink.

  “Okay, okay,” Myrna said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Look, I had to. I didn’t have any choice. I’m not going to see this paper go belly up. Not after all the years Mr. Cornelius put into it, so it was a case of whatever it takes. You heard what Libby said. The paper’s in trouble. Advertisers are bailing like rats. We need a figurehead.”

  “For what?”

  “To meet with the advertisers. To sound like he knows what the hell he’s talking about. The man is nothing if not articulate. I mean, he’s a lawyer, and he has a degree in business. He can walk the walk and talk the talk.”

  “What man?” Allie asked, although she knew the answer.

  Myrna looked at her in surprise. “Rand Arbutten. I thought you knew. He’s agreed to help us. Just to get us over this rough spot,” she added quickly. “Then,
he’s gone.”

  Allie wanted to rant about how stupid a move it was, but she knew that wouldn’t budge Myrna. Not once she had her mind set. “So, that’s what you get out of it,” Allie said, her eyes boring into Myrna. “I know what you think I get out of it. What does he get out of it?”

  “It’s just temporary,” Myrna said, waving the smoke and the question away. “His bosses told him to take as long as he needs to get his mother’s affairs in order. He’ll be going back there in a few weeks. I just thought, hell, since he’s here and at loose ends…” She glanced over at Allie. “I knew you wouldn’t refuse to work with him once you knew how important this is. You’re not like that.”

  “I am exactly like that. What do you mean work with him?”

  Myrna stared at the end of her cigarette. “You know. Collaborate. You do the investigating and he—well, sort of approves what gets published.”

  Allie jumped to her feet. “What?”

  “Just the stuff about his mother. You can write anything you want about his father.”

  “I’ll bet.” She blew out a breath. “You’re crazy. You’re giving final editorial approval to some stranger off the street.”

  “Sit down,” Myrna said, looking up and shading her eyes. When Allie sat, she said, “He’s hardly a stranger off the street. We know him and his family.”

  “We don’t know him at all.”

  Myrna ignored her. “He’ll probably be gone before you finish your story, so it will be a non-issue. In the meantime, he can convince the advertisers that we’re still a viable concern, and just think about it. He’ll have to talk to you if you’re both working for the same paper, right? It would be shoddy for him to refuse to answer your questions. You have him over a barrel. That’s the way you need to look at it.” She lit another cigarette. “The board approved him,” she added, as if that meant something.

  “Before or after they approved my promotion?”

  Myrna’s silence was her answer.

  “So, this promotion and raise were a bribe?”

  “Not a bribe, exactly.”

  Allie looked at the envelope in her purse. She had intended to give it back to Myrna with her new title. Instead, she reached in and pulled out her checkbook. She very deliberately ripped out a deposit slip. “Direct deposit,” she said, handing it to Myrna, who took it without a word. “Now, I have some questions for our new editor,” she said, standing and stalking away.