The room was another sanctuary for me. Every inch of the library was lined with ceiling-to-floor, blond wood shelves. Ladders on each wall, that glided on brushed nickel rails, broke up the reams of books. The room’s massive size was mitigated by three comfortable seating areas. I grabbed the retrospective I was looking for and was about to plop into my favorite wing chair, when I realized the dim sound I was hearing was running water.
I headed into the kitchen. Sure enough, the water was running in the island sink. Coming around the island, my hands flew up, and as the book tumbled to the floor, I shouted, “Oh my God!”
Stepping over a stream of blood, I knelt and felt Marilyn’s neck for a pulse. She was stiff and cold. Jumping up, I looked around. A bloody kitchen knife was on the floor a few feet away. I stepped over her body, shut the water off, and stared at Marilyn as my heart began to pound. Turning away from her, I began to run, kicking the book as I left the kitchen. When I got to the pool house, I grabbed my pills and choked, trying to down two without water. A dizzy feeling came over me and I tried to fight it with my breathing exercises but was overcome by blackness.
When I woke, I was on the floor. My head was pounding and my wrist was sprained. I scrambled to my feet. Was it all a dream? It had to be. The conscience can be vicious, I knew. It’s the only thing that keeps the world from descending into total chaos. This had to be a warning. Didn’t it? My mind was telling me not to go through with killing Marilyn.
I left the pool house and tiptoed my way to Serenity. The front door was wide open. I pulled out my cell phone and headed in.
Chapter 15
Luca
Lights illuminating the way ahead, a police boat pushed off Naples City Dock. It navigated slowly until entering Naples Bay, where it sped up considerably.
Passing inlets of black water that led to Port Royal, lights outlining the enclave known as Keewaydin Island became visible. I took a step toward the bow and said, “Talk about privileged? This is off the hook.”
Vargas said, “How many people live on it, Luca?”
“Pretty sure it’s just Marilyn Boggs and her husband.”
“Really? Looks like there’s five, six buildings, at least. Just for the two of them?”
I nodded. “According to Susan. She and her husband own ‘Sweet Liberty’. Did you ever take a ride on their catamaran?”
“No.”
“You should. It’s beautiful. Anyway, she said when the Boggs bought it they built three houses for themselves. And there’s a guesthouse, a pool house, and, get this, a building for all their art.”
“That’s over the top. It looks so peaceful. I’ve never been on the island.”
“Well, there’s another thing for you to do. You know, for a Floridian, you don’t seem to know as much as I do about the area.”
“You know how it goes. People who live in New York never go to the Statue of Liberty, right?”
I nodded. “Anyway, seventy-five percent of the island is owned by the State of Florida. I took a boat ride over there about a year ago. It’s real peaceful, gazillions of wildlife. The day I went, I saw at least half a dozen bald eagles. Keewaydin’s got a real shelly beach, so bring your sneakers if you go.”
A couple of yachts filled with onlookers were drifting fifty yards off the island’s shoreline. Our boat slowed down as it approached the dock, maneuvering into a space between four powerboats that were tied up. Two of them were police boats and had their strobe lights on.
Vargas said, “The husband found the body?”
“Yeah, he called it in. Name’s Gideon Brighthouse.”
“Brighthouse? Thought the family name was Boggs.”
“It is. Apparently, the wife never took his name. The chief said Brighthouse was a political operative awhile back, used to work for one of Florida’s senators.”
“Then he jumped on the gravy train?”
“Maybe. We’ll find out if it was the money or that elusive thing we call love.”
“Speaking of romance, how are things with Kayla? I thought you said she was coming into town.”
“Yeah, she was supposed to be heading in for a couple of days, but something came up and she had to cancel.” I couldn’t tell Vargas I thought Kayla was brushing me off, it’d be embarrassing considering how I’d made it seem things were going great.”
“Oh.”
The last thing I needed to think about now was Kayla. I pushed the blue feeling aside and focused on the new case.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
I helped Vargas off the boat onto a long, gray dock made of Trex. Thirty feet away a gate of scrolled iron, with pickets overhanging the water, prevented anyone from getting from the dock onto the island. It was a measure of security, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t swim in off a boat.
After examining the area around the dock, I surveyed the house. A dozen royal palms, beautifully lit, lined a wide, stone path to the Key West-styled home. Man, I couldn’t even come up with a number for what this place was worth. I wished it were daylight. We’d have to come back in the morning, and I’d get a bead on what this place looked like.
Two men were heading our way down the lighted walkway. I knew from the suit and strut that one of them was a lawyer. He barely nodded to us and went past us, straight toward the police boats.
I introduced ourselves to Frank Flynn. In white boat sneakers, shorts, and a tee shirt, Flynn was a family friend who was carrying forty pounds of extra weight. After telling me I looked like George Clooney, he revealed that he lived across the strait in Port Royal and had been summoned by the family lawyer. Flynn said Gideon, the husband, was distraught and in the pool house. As we made our way to the main house, he told us that he’d been the first to arrive and that he met Gideon at the dock but did not see the body.
It was the first murder scene I’d approached without having a microphone stuck in my face. However, that wasn’t the extent of how different this one was. Usually there were plenty of patrol cars, a perimeter line set up around the actual scene, and another further out to fence off an area, preventing the media and public from interfering. Here, we were surrounded by a gulf barely lapping at the shore, under a black sky speckled with diamonds. It was quiet, and if not for the police boat lights, a perfect spot to honeymoon.
Peter Gerey caught up with us after convincing the police boats to tone down their lights. Serious as cancer, Gerey was the lawyer who quarterbacked the family’s interests in the State of Florida. A partner in a small firm, he helped guide the top one-tenth of a percent on matters of money, privacy, and that good old intangible, reputation.
Thin-lipped, Gerey spoke in the hushed tone of an undertaker.
“Detective, the family would appreciate discretion in regards to the press. We’d like to avoid having to combat baseless rumors. I trust you realize the Boggs are a prominent family, one that employs hundreds of people. Despite their profile in the community, the Boggs family places a high value on their privacy.”
I held up a hand. “Counselor, I’m here to conduct an investigation. Talking to the press isn’t a part of my job description. I’m sure you know a bunch of people at the sheriff’s office, and I’d suggest that’s where you make your pitch. Now, this is as far as you can go.”
“But—”
“No “buts.” This is a crime scene.”
We climbed the stairs to the porch, and over the door was a hand-carved sign with silver lettering: Serenity House. I thought about the coming contradiction as we signed in with the officer guarding the scene.
Chapter 16
Luca
I stood in the foyer. It was a magnificent home, the nicest I’d ever been in. There were a lot of interesting pictures hanging with little lights over them. But it wasn’t like the place was a museum. It was tough to explain; you just knew it was expensive, but it wasn’t gaudy. It was, it hit me, serene.
Well, all that serenity was broken, as usual, by human beh
avior gone off the rails. The sound of a camera snapping and whirring away prompted me to pull on booties and gloves and get to work.
The officer standing in the kitchen entranceway said the coroner was expected within the hour. He moved aside and we stepped into the kitchen. It looked like one of those kitchens you see in design magazines.
White quartz topped the gray cabinets along the walls, and the island had the reverse, white cabinets and a gray slab on top. The body wasn’t visible, and if not for the uniforms, it could have been the cleanup after an elegant dinner party. A slight coffee smell hung in the air, and my gaze wandered to cabinetry that housed built-in espresso and Keurig machines.
The photographer, a good kid named Giancarlo, stood up. He was finished. I asked him to find out how to turn on all the outside lights and see if there were any footprints he could document in case a rainstorm came through.
Vargas and I sidestepped over an art book, and there was the body.
Marilyn Boggs, a small woman with a pixie haircut, looked almost ten years younger than the fifty I was told she was. She was on her back, head lolled to the left, and was wearing jewelry that weighed more than she did. One of her stilettos was half off, and her skirt was hiked, revealing a thin thigh. She wasn’t my type.
Stepping over a stream of blood, I crouched down. Gravity had begun to pool her blood. She’d been dead more than a couple of hours. Her perfect makeup was marred by smudged lipstick and a slight mark on her right cheek. The woman’s upper body was resting on a puddle of crimson red that was getting gummy. A single puncture wound in her chest, that I figured went completely through her thin body, was the source of the puddle.
I stood. “She’s five foot one, max. We’ll get a good idea from the wound how tall the killer was.”
A long, serrated knife with an ebony handle lay three feet to the right of the body. Tinged red, it looked to be the murder weapon. How did this rich lady end up dead? The knife, unusual in the wealthy circles of crime, was puzzling. Stabbings were rare; this could be a break-in gone bad.
I glared at two officers who were talking like they were at a tailgate party.
“Come on, guys!”
Vargas said, “Why don’t you two wait in the hallway?”
The officers backed out of the kitchen, and Vargas said, “Crazy, all this money, and she’s stabbed like a hooker in an alleyway.”
“Money? This isn’t money, Vargas. This is what’s called wealth.”
She shook her head. “Money, wealth, whatever. It can’t buy you happiness or, apparently, security.”
I circled around to the other side of the kitchen, visualizing how a struggle may have played out. She was on the floor near one of those double-basin farm sinks. The woman could have been at the sink and was surprised by someone. Maybe he came through one of the massive sliders that formed the left-hand wall, which overlooked an outdoor dining area and fountain.
A lone wine glass, delicately thin and empty, sat on the island. I took a closer look at the glass. The rim appeared clean and the glass didn’t show any signs of residue. A few feet to the left, a bottle of red wine, three-quarters empty, was sitting on top of a white marble disk.
To the left of the glass and disassembled, was an expensive-looking juicer. I checked it for traces of water for a clue to when it had been cleaned.
There was an empty slot in the bleached-wood knife block sitting on the counter two feet from the sink, which was also empty. Looking at the handles, it was clear that was where the murder weapon came from. How did the murderer get their hands on it if she was in the kitchen?
“What are you thinking, Luca?”
“Was the victim in the kitchen, or was she out of the room and a thief came in? Then she surprised him, and he went for the knife?”
“I don’t know; this is not the easiest place to rob.”
“Agreed, but it could’ve been someone on staff or some worker, who knows? Either way, we’ve got a ton of interviewing to conduct. First thing: find out who was on the island, who came and went, and if anyone saw or heard a boat close by.”
“Didn’t you say the island is mostly owned by the state?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Is it possible someone got on the island from that side?”
“Absolutely.”
Vargas sighed. “I thought the remoteness of this place would make the investigation easy.”
“Easy? The last easy case I was on was . . . oh yeah, there never was one, unless you want to count a burglary one time where this guy broke in, got drunk, and fell asleep. The husband found him and called us.”
“You never told me about that.”
“No end to the madness in this business.”
“You want to interview the husband now? He’s in the pool house.”
“Let’s take a look at the master bedroom first. We’ll check the rest of the place after we talk to him.”
A stairway of glass and iron, providing a nice dose of modernity, emptied into a loft-like family room that served a bank of bedrooms to the right. A sitting area where the hallway split, led to double doors, signaling the master bedroom suite.
Expecting a concert hall-sized bedroom, I was surprised by the coziness of the room, which was anchored by a modern, king-sized bed. A large picture of a colorful triangle that reminded me of the album cover for Dark Side of the Moon hung opposite the bed.
It looked like one side of the bed had been slept in, and the bedding simply straightened.
I said, “Looks like someone slept alone last night.”
“Maybe they were fighting and things escalated today.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
I checked both of the gray nightstands before a pair of French doors drew me to a rear-facing deck. Sticking my head outside, I wondered how nice it would be to wake up to such a panoramic view. The deck furniture gave no indication of activity, so I closed the door.
“Nothing out there. Let’s check the rest.”
We stepped into her closet, which had more square footage than the bedroom. There were three modern takes on chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a mirrored vanity that ran for at least fifteen feet. The closet had four sections, each divided by a small, modern picture: makeup, hanging garments, shoe storage, and banks of drawers.
Vargas said, “This is what most women call heaven.”
I passed rows and rows of custom shoe shelving. “There’s gotta be two hundred pairs or more here. This is crazy.”
“Not if you can afford it.”
In the long-hang section there were more gowns than most bridal stores, but not much color variety. It was clear Mrs. Boggs was a fan of white, black, and gray, especially in formal wear. The medium, mid-medium, and short-hang sections offered a more colorful palette but no clues.
It took us a half hour to search all the drawers, but we ended up with nothing and moved to the husband’s closet, which was materially smaller but more than ample.
“The guy gets screwed again.”
“What?”
“It’s like, not even half the space.”
Vargas pointed to a couple of large gaps in the hanging area. “He’s not even using what he has.”
“My bet is he’s living somewhere else. Maybe in one of the other houses.”
“How many do they have?”
“I don’t know, but you can bet with this kind of wealth they have more than one house.”
Vargas pulled open drawers. “You’re right, only a handful of things.”
The palatial bathroom featured a walk-in shower where you could play handball, and a freestanding tub that was egg-shaped. Straddling the edge of the white tub was a wooden tray designed to hold two Champagne flutes.
“I got to get me one of those.”
Her vanity had a tray with an assortment of brushes and an electric toothbrush sitting in its charger. Pulling the clear plastic cap off the tooth
brush head, I brushed it over the bristles. I noted the droplets of water the action produced and moved on.
The male vanity top was empty. I pulled opened the top drawer and squeezed the toothpaste. It had hardened.
“Come on, let’s have our chat with Mr. Boggs.”
We left the main house as the forensics team arrived.
Chapter 17
Luca
As we gave instructions to the officers guarding the scene, Peter Gerey was pacing in the distance, talking on his phone. He noticed us and hurried over as we asked the officers to inform us when the coroner arrived.
“Did you find anything, Detective?”
“Now Counselor, you know we can’t share that information. This is an active investigation.”
“It wasn’t an attempt for inside information, Detective. I understand the rules of the game. My concern and hence inquiry is for the family, their privacy and reputation.”
Sure. It couldn’t be the five hundred an hour guys like you charge, Luca thought.
“Noted. We’d like to speak with Gideon Brighthouse.”
“Of course. Mr. Brighthouse is in the pool house.” Gerey pointed to a two-story structure that stood to the left of a rectangular pool, its lights changing from blue to purple.
I loved the way the breeze felt on my face as we made our way. The pool house sat in between the main house and the guesthouse, each generously separated with landscaping and setbacks. Since the entire private side of the island was technically a crime scene, it left us with a lot of property to comb through. I didn’t think so, but who knew? Maybe even the water surrounding this place would need to be searched.
As the stone path meandered to the pool, lights illuminated a sliver of the beach, highlighting uniform lines that said the beach was raked. I wasn’t much of a nighttime swimmer, but the pool, now lit a reddish color, began whispering to me as we reached its decking.
The entire first floor of the building was a series of ten-foot sliding doors, giving the impression that the second floor was floating above. As we entered an open slider, a cascade of rustling palm trees filled the air. Frank Flynn, seated across from Gideon Brighthouse, struggled to get off a white leather sofa.
The Serenity Murder (A Luca Mystery Book 3) Page 6
