Death of a Hot Chick

by Norma Huss

  A good while later, after I’d handed him nearly all the tools in his kit, he said, “Get some diesel in my fuel can. Gotta prime the filter.”

  I lugged the can to the fuel dock, returned with a gallon of diesel, and saw Wes smoking a cigarette—on my boat deck. “Hey, this is a non-smoking boat. Do you see any ash trays?”

  He took another puff, went inside, and stubbed the butt out in the sink. “Just be glad I’m working on your boat. Should have been a couple of weeks before I got around to this job. Do you know how many others I’ve got waiting?”

  “I’m thinking you’d rather they wait than for me to stay in your marina.” I ran water over the mangled cigarette and tossed it into the trash. “Why?”

  “Hah,” he said and grabbed the fuel can.

  I followed him. “What could happen to you if Snapdragon is still here next month?” Obviously, he didn’t care what happened to me. “You think this Pop guy will come after you when he gets out of jail?”

  “Him, yeah. Not his nephew.”

  “Nephew?”

  “You know.”

  “Wes, I don’t know anything except somebody broke into my boat, messed it up, but didn’t take anything that I can see.”

  “Well, there you go.” Wes started pouring the diesel and added, “Stand ready to turn her on.”

  He was through talking, but I wasn’t through asking. “You think the nephew broke in?”

  No answer.

  “Is Chester his nephew? He had the boat before Nicole.”

  Still no answer. After a few minutes, Wes finally spoke. “Almost done. You turn the engine on when I tell you. And stop it on the dime when I holler. Got it?”

  More questions would do no good. “Yes, sir.”

  I turned the engine on at his prompt. Two minutes later, he yelled, “Off.”

  The moment the noise died, I heard a voice from outside the boat, saying, “Hey in there. Permission to come aboard.”

  Another police visit. Officer Doug Yarnell. Again. I’d rather say, “Go away,” but I didn’t. “Sure. My house is your house. Step right in.”

  “Officer Yarnell,” he said, like he hadn’t been on the boat two days before. Or, that he hadn’t gone through that whole memory lane bit about my past. “What’s going on here?”

  “Engine repairs.”

  “Who authorized it? Or, maybe I should just raise my eyebrows and ask, ‘On someone else’s boat?’ Forget I asked. I’m here to get other answers.”

  “All done,” Wes said as he reared his head out of the miniature engine room below the cabin sole. “What we got? The police?”

  “More questions about the night of the murder. I have questions for you, too.”

  “I wasn’t there,” Wes said. “I’m not here now. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You doing something that the deceased contracted for?”

  “He’s doing it for me,” I said as Wes gathered his tools.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You have questions. Ask away.”

  “We’ll get back to that,” he said. “Tell me again about the night of the murder. You were aboard this boat. Why were you living on, Snapdragon, that’s the name, right?”

  “Nicole hired me to clean and do minor repairs. Staying aboard was part of the deal.”

  Wes disappeared down the dock, but Doug was still there with his questions. “What deal would that be?”

  “Like I said—I’d stay here while I worked on the boat. Cheaper for her. And me. I’d expected to be paid for supplies, but I’d already spent nearly sixty dollars, and it was either get paid or quit eating.”

  “However, you are still working and living on the boat. Why haven’t you made other living arrangements?”

  “That’s the rest of the deal. The boat’s mine now.”

  “I’m afraid not. Mr. Joline, Nicole’s father, wants her boat, and since there seems to be no will, he is next of kin and owns everything.”

  “She put my name on the title.”

  “She what?”

  “She added my name to the title. My sister took it home for safekeeping, but I’ll get copies today.”

  Doug grunted, turned away, then turned back. “Maybe you lead a charmed life. All I can say is protect that title and keep copies on hand.”

  “You were going to kick me off Snapdragon? Is that the reason you’re here?”

  “This does put a new light on the investigation.” He hesitated, then added, “You do realize you’re a person of interest in Miss Joline’s death.”

  “And Teddy wasn’t supposed to warn me, right?” I turned away, but I couldn’t resist adding, “You’re hard up for suspects, is that it?”

  “Why don’t you come on down to the station and answer a few questions? A statement, for our records.”

  I turned around at the cabin door. “I’ve given the police plenty of statements already. You know that.”

  “You have been cooperative.” He put a hand on the rail to hoist himself out of the boat.

  “But you were going to kick me out, weren’t you?”

  “You had three days. Maybe you still do.” Doug stepped on the dock, then turned. “Word of advice, Cyd. As one old neighbor to another, you might say. Could be a good idea to have a lawyer before Edward Joline hears about this.”

  Chapter 6

  The sign on the door read: Smith, Smith, Smith, and Owens - Attorneys at Law. The nameplate on the desk read: J. Smith Owens, Esquire. The very young man who jumped up to shake Kaye’s hand wore a golf shirt with a tiny alligator on the pocket. I listened as my sister thanked him profusely for meeting us on his day off.

  “How could I refuse to see my favorite professor?” he asked. “I’ve got to tell you, your course on recent Central American history changed my entire life.”

  As Kaye and J. Smith Owens talked college courses, study in Panama and Costa Rica, his uncles and father, I studied the framed certificates on the wall and the view from the small window. I learned J. stood for Jonathan, he had four pens in a black, initialed holder, and three pictures on his desk. One was the graduation photo of a cutie. Probably the girl friend. The other two were family groups. Judging from the clothing, one group was likely dead. That would account for most of the Smiths.

  Finally, Kaye said, “My sister has an interesting legal problem related to Nicole Joline’s death. This title,” she said, as she placed it before him.

  He frowned, held it up, then turned it over.

  I didn’t like that frown. “Is anything the matter?” I asked.

  “This does seem to be a legal title. However, it is unusual to see one that has not been kept in the best condition. The damage does not seem to be related to the age of the document. The paper was wet at some point?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned to the front of the paper and muttered to himself, “Not sure about that handwritten addition. It is witnessed and dated, but not notarized.” After a moment, he turned to me. “How did you come by this document? Did Miss Joline give it to you?”

  “Yes.” In way, that was true.

  “The time-date is before her death?” I nodded. “That may preclude the absence of notarized signatures. You and the witness can testify these are your signatures?”

  I nodded again. “She said it made everything all legal.”

  “There will be an inquest into her death. This may figure into her estate.” He opened a drawer, removed a folder, and opened it. “I must study the ramifications,” he said as he placed the title in the folder.

  “No! You can’t have it.”

  Kaye jerked her head around to look at me, then she nodded. Obviously we were of the same opinion because she said, “Perhaps we should make copies and put this one in a safe deposit box. The original could always be shown later, if necessary.”

  “Of course. I’ll make a copy for my use to research the applicable laws. It needn’t be notarized. Although, I recommend you do obtain notarized copies.”

  “Excellent suggesti
on,” Kaye said. “Now, let’s discuss your retainer.”

  “Oh, please. Should I ask my favorite teacher for money? Let’s see how much time this requires. We’ll talk about that later.”

  I opened my wallet and took out all the bills. One ten and four ones. “Fourteen dollars. I insist you take this for now.”

  J. Smith’s face got red. “Please, no,” he said.

  “Do take it, Jonathan,” Kaye said. “Little though it is, you are now her lawyer. And believe me, you will be paid in full. Didn’t those years at college teach you anything about finances?”

  That’s when he actually got serious, filled out a bunch of papers promising to research the boat title and represent me in any dealings. He even looked at me twice. But he definitely spoke to Kaye when he added, “I’ll also file a notice of interested party to the estate of Nicole Joline.”

  “Of course,” Kaye said.

  “Thank you for handling my case,” I said, belatedly acting like a client. As I watched Kaye take care of my business, I wondered when my sister would start going the, “tough love,” route. Telling me, “You’re a big girl now. Handle it,” whatever “it” might be at the moment. How did I get so messed up? Had I depended on Al so much that I’d forgotten everything I knew before? How to be independent, responsible? And, when would I break away? When would I tell Kaye, “Thanks, but no thanks?”

  Not today.

  Kaye’s insurance company was our next stop for more waiting as they wrote a month’s binder for the boat. Kaye paid. She’d lined up the notary as well. I knew to the penny the remaining coins in my pocket. My slim bank account barely covered the checks for the notarized copies and the first month’s rental of a safe-deposit box.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I murmured. I should have said, “Don’t you get tired of bailing me out?” Instead, I said, “Thank you.”

  Kaye dropped me off at the marina, with a cheery, “Be back later.” Just as well she left. I wasn’t up to entertaining anyone, not even my sister. How would I pay for everything? When I polished Snapdragon ‘til she was in Bristol condition, I had to sell her.

  Once inside I sat, rested my elbows on the table and flexed my fingers. Spread them apart. Clasped them under my chin.

  “Nicole,” I said hesitatingly. “Are you here?”

  There was no answer.

  Okay, she chose me because I was her only available conduit. The first time, she came while I talked to Gregory. No, that wasn’t the first time. She’d been there, right after her death, even before I knew she was dead, telling me to take the title. Then, she actually appeared when I showed him...when I showed him the title.

  I grabbed a copy of the title. Wasn’t the real thing, but it might work.

  “Nicole? We need to talk.”

  No answer. I stroked the copy with my finger.

  “Nicole, where are you?”

  Still no answer. But, the actual title, the piece of paper that Nicole had touched might work. Was that the secret?

  Or, was she around, even if I didn’t hear her? “Nicole, how can I find out who killed you if you don’t tell me anything?” Silly, talking to the air, to nothing. “Nicole, I got new insurance on Snapdragon. I have the title in a safe-deposit box. Should I do more? Is there anything to find if I search the boat? Do you know someone broke in?”

  If she heard, she didn’t answer.

  The best part of the working day was gone. Everyone at the marina took off Saturday, except for someone at the fuel dock. I needed a paying job, but there’d be no one at Bayside to hire me.

  I had to try. I loaded my rags and teak oil and took the short cut between the marinas. I walked between boats up on the hard, past work buildings closed, and around an overload of parked cars that had brought sailing families to their boats for the weekend. However, the manager’s office door was open.

  I poked my head inside and rapped on the door frame. “Anybody here?”

  “Barely.” The voice came from the back room. “Just leaving. What’s up?” Monty, the Bayside manager, came lumbering through the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “That job still available I worked on yesterday?”

  “Slim’s on it. And I’m not going to dig out anything else right now. It’s too damn hot to work.”

  “I thought he took the weekend off.”

  “Didn’t work out, I guess. He’s a sucker for punishment. You and Slim are two peas in a pod. Work all the time. He didn’t even take the weekend off like he said. He’d likely cotton to a helper.”

  “I know the way.”

  I found Slim, a broad-brimmed hat protecting his head, his bony shoulders moving in time to his humming as he rubbed oil into the teak.

  “Hot work,” I said. “Want some help?”

  He tried to look stern. “Sure you ain’t out to take over all my jobs?”

  I shook my head, then lifted my right hand, fingers flat out. “Cross my heart.”

  “Okay.” The grin broke out. “Same deal as before.”

  I nodded. He’d explained it once, years ago. The deal involved halves and quarters, and piles of change, and him being the boss, all with absolutely no calculator to arrive at, as far as I could see, an eminently fair division.

  After we started work, I said, “I looked for you yesterday, but Monty said you have a lady friend.”

  Slim’s eyes crinkled as he chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what he thinks. I ain’t telling him any different.”

  “You don’t have a lady friend?”

  Slim grinned, but he didn’t answer, just kept on rubbing teak, changing rags often.

  “Want me to sand the next bit?” I asked, and with his nod, I started working. The two of us worked easily together, and Slim would talk when he wanted, not before. However, he didn’t mind a bit of chatter.

  “I’m fixing up my boat. Snapdragon. Takes a lot of money.”

  “Yeah. Heard that.”

  He had already known? “Just curious. Who told you?”

  Slim started whistling, but he didn’t answer. Twenty minutes later, he said, “You want some water? I got me my thermos here.”

  “Sure.”

  As he poured, he said, “You know her, too.”

  Aha. He couldn’t keep quiet, but was this an answer to my question? “Yeah?”

  “That newspaper gal that just got that there night-time column.”

  “Teddy! She’s the lady friend?” Not the secret source of knowledge.

  Slim gulped water before he answered. “Yep. She done me a favor once. Put in a word for me, she did.”

  I didn’t ask. “Good to have friends like that.”

  “You bet. And she likes to hear stuff I hear. Lotta times she puts it in the paper.”

  “She’s always looking for stories.” I brushed sawdust off the teak. “Do you want the deck sanded and varnished?”

  “No varnish, the guy said. Just oil. Some more teak along this here way.” He picked up supplies, and added, “I told her about your boat, you know.”

  I gathered my supplies and followed Slim. “That I have it, you mean?”

  “Nah. I din’t know t’was yours then. Told her about that there fool Chester. He thinks that uncle of his wants the boat back just because it’s a boat.”

  We’d moved around to another area of weather-beaten teak. I chose a square of sandpaper. Slim was finally eager to talk and I wanted to hear it all.

  “And he doesn’t?“ I didn’t look up.

  “Way I see it, Pop got some kinda secret hid in that boat.” Slim lined up his supplies.

  “Like loot or something?”

  Slim started sanding. “You got it.”

  “And Chester doesn’t know it? But Teddy does.” And now I did, too. Just a rumor, or an actual fact? Had Nicole known about any supposed loot in the boat? Maybe she believed the rumor, told someone. Looked for it—found it, or didn’t find anything. Was that why she’d been killed? “So, what else do you tell Teddy?”

  “Oh, stuff. Like w
ho goes off for a weekend. You know.”

  “Uh-huh.” Like maritime shack up, I guessed.

  “Maybe what Monty says.”

  So, what could Bayside’s marina manager say to interest Teddy? “Yeah?”

  Slim poured more teak oil on the wood and rubbed a good five minutes before he answered. “Monty didn’t want that little lobster trawler you got staying in his marina. Not after Chester got rid of her. I figure, ’cause of Pop. ’Course, he didn’t tell that Nicole gal any of that.” Slim cackled, pleased with some secret joke. “Told her about a million things, he did. About a convention of boats coming in. About a big down-payment for new contracts. About a waiting list a mile long. Don’t remember what all.”

  I smiled and nodded to encourage Slim. “Then he told you?”

  “He don’t tell me nothing. He got a loud voice and I got ears, is all.”

  ~ ~

  Kaye’s voice came from outside. “It’s later. I’m here.”

  Later was right. I’d just put my supper dishes away. I opened the door and said, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Permission to come aboard.’ And then I say, ‘It’s too late.’ ”

  “I brought pineapple upside-down cake and a thermos of hot chocolate,” Kaye said as she waltzed past me and into my floating home.

  “Okay. So, what do you want now?”

  “You are so suspicious.”

  “No more than usual.” I got two forks and two mugs. I’d pay, one way or another, but I couldn’t pass up Kaye’s home-made goodies. “You will join me, right?”

  “Just the hot chocolate.” Kaye swirled the thermos, then filled the two cups. “I had my cake earlier.” She watched me take a bite. “Good, right?”

  “Always. And you know it.” I savored the first bite, then took another. Almost as good as her cherry cheesecake. Sleep could wait.

  Kaye sipped cocoa, stared at the walls like she was waiting for something. I took another bite. Kaye smiled. She was definitely waiting for the perfect moment to spring whatever surprise was coming. “Yummy,” I said. Kaye nodded and watched with that everlasting smile while I finished the final crumb.

  She leaned forward and placed one finger on the table. “Something is hidden on this boat, and you and I will find it tonight.”