A Sporting Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  The house where the family lived was in a neighborhood of concrete block homes lining dusty unpaved streets that were cut through by canals. The streets were laid out in a grid pattern, but the canals meandered in many directions. The streets dead ended where a canal crossed them and continued on the other side, making it necessary to backtrack to find a bridge that crossed the canal. After several tries, we found a bridge but then were stopped by yet another canal. By the time we finally threaded our way through the maze of streets, bridges and cattail-clogged waterways, my coffee had worn off and lack of sleep was making me groggy.

  Finally Alex pulled up in front of a gray house, correct number, correct street. The building was almost identical to its neighbors’. Paint and landscaping were not activities high on these homeowners’ lists. There was no grass in the yard and a swing set with a broken slide sat rusted and abandoned in the front patch of dirt. Under each of the two swings you could still see the depressions made by children’s feet as they pushed off to gain height. A chain-link fence surrounded the yard. Two ponytail palms, their fronds yellow from lack of water, sat on either side of the driveway. An old pickup truck, one fender duct-taped onto the body, had been pulled into the drive just beyond the gate. I saw a mixed-breed dog, as buff-colored as the dust in the yard, get up when we pulled into the drive and parked beyond the fence. The dog looked as disconsolate as the palms. Opening its mouth as if to bark, it decided not to bother—just eyed us as Alex got out of the car.

  “Careful of the dog,” I said. “I always worry about dogs that don’t make a sound.”

  The dog again opened its mouth. This time the move ended in a yawn.

  Alex approached the gate.

  The sun-weathered door of the house opened, and a woman stuck her head out. “Go away or I’ll sic the dog on you.”

  Her words were hostile, but her tone of voice was quiet, depressed, as if she had no hope that anyone would come to her door seeking anything but payment for back bills. She just wanted us gone so she wouldn’t have to be bothered. Both she and the dog looked as if they’d seen the world at its worst and now wanted to be left alone. She began to close the door.

  I hopped out of the car. Eve to the rescue. “Ma’am. We’re sorry to bother you but we need your help. I know this is painful, but it’s about your son’s death. Is your husband at home? We’d like to talk with both of you.”

  “Get back in the car, Eve,” Alex said through clenched teeth.

  Something about the dynamic between Alex and me, his ordering me to the car, my placating tone with her, seemed to get her interest.

  “You cops?” she asked.

  “He’s a detective. I’m kind of a consultant.”

  She looked at her neighbors’ houses. “People are nosy around here. You’d better come in.”

  “You lied to her about our being police,” Alex said under his breath as he opened the gate. As we walked past the dog, it flopped over onto its side, moaned, and closed its eyes.

  I expected the inside of the house to be as disheveled as the yard, but I was surprised to see that it was neat and organized. The furniture was old, but in good condition, and the house smelled like pine cleaner. Like her home, Mrs. Warren looked worn out, but her hair was a bubble of salt and pepper curls and her clothing neat and pressed. She even wore a light lip gloss and a pair of tear-drop earrings that caught the light from the window. It was as if she was expecting company.

  She gestured toward a slip-covered couch, its tropical colors of blue and pink faded but spot free. We settled in on the couch. A small table was positioned at my end of the sofa. On it was a collection of pictures, most of them featuring an infant, then toddler, and finally male child, his blue eyes twinkling with happiness, his freckles becoming more prominent as he grew older. A candle stood to the right of the photos. The tableau had the appearance of a shrine. Mrs. Warren caught me looking at the photos.

  “My son.” Her face saddened as she looked at them.

  Alex tried on his version of my friendly approach, adding his own element of cop-like firmness. “Mrs. Warren, we’re sorry to disturb you, but we have some questions. Your husband not home yet?”

  Up until this point, she’d seemed tense, wary, her arms across her chest. At Alex’s words, she relaxed and grabbed a cigarette off the coffee table but didn’t light it. From the clean smell of the place, I had a feeling no one smoked inside the house. Maybe on the front steps. She smiled at Alex as if she knew something he did not, something that gave her an edge. “Not home yet? Nope, and I don’t expect him in this lifetime or any other. He’s dead. In Afghanistan. Now, what’s this about my son? He’s dead too. Killed by some rich man over in Sabal City. I’m all alone.”

  We bowed out of Mrs. Warren’s house and her sorrow-filled life as gracefully as we could. Alex told her we were just tying up loose ends from the case in which her son was killed.

  “What a sad woman,” I said, watching her move the curtain to one side as we drove away from the house. “I guess that was a dead end.” I caught myself and gave a nervous laugh. “I mean, it’s certainly not her husband who’s trying to set up David. If someone is setting him up, that is.”

  “You don’t think that’s true?” Alex said. “You don’t believe David killed his client or that he had anything to do with Bernard Egret’s disappearance, do you?”

  I shrugged. “I guess not. What can be going on then?”

  “First I think we need to find out more about Bernard’s situation; then I have to follow up on Mr. Warren.”

  “Is she lying?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to track down Mr. Warren and find out if he really was killed in Afghanistan. On my own, Eve. This time I don’t need your help.”

  I really didn’t hear much of what he said beyond that. I knew, of course, that I was being chastised for not following his orders to stay in the truck, but I was glad I’d met Mrs. Warren and I wondered about the pipe I’d seen on the dash of the truck when we walked past. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who liked a good bowlful. Aside from my own thoughts about the Warren family, I also was trying on Alex’s idea of finding out more about Bernard Egret’s situation.

  I settled into the corner of the front seat. I needed to get some shuteye before I had to check out our shop on wheels this afternoon and follow up tonight on the casino rendezvous with the gambling punks who’d set up Bernard. Sammy wouldn’t know—I’d be in hiding—but four ears are better than two, especially if no one knows about the second set. Mmm. Sleep now, spy later.

  When we pulled up to my house, Sammy’s truck sat out front. He jumped out and ran up to the car, banging on the driver’s side window.

  “I just found out from Frida that David Wilson’s card was in my nephew’s glove box and that you’re doing some private work for him. I think you’d better tell me how all of this is related. If David were where I could get my hands on him, I’d get the truth out of him about why Bernard had his card. I suggest you tell me what’s going on.”

  Alex got out of the car and confronted a side of Sammy I’d never experienced before. The man was steamed and looked as if he wanted to take on Alex in a fight. Before I could say something Eve-like that would only ratchet up the anger, Alex stepped in with the diplomacy of a Madeleine.

  “Sammy, we could use your help here. We know someone planted that card in Bernard’s car. We just can’t figure out who is trying to frame David and connect the two crimes. Maybe you have some insight into this. You hear things we don’t.”

  Sammy’s long black hair was not in its customary braids. He removed his hat and ran his hands through the straight, dark mane.

  “Sorry. The family is going crazy with worry. No word from Bernard and then the cops find David’s card. That seems to be all they’ve been able to manage since they discovered the car last night. I’m sure Eve told you she and I went to Orlando and spoke with Bernard’s roommate. He’s going to introduce me to the guys who took Bernard to the poker g
ame.”

  “Really?” Alex directed his gaze to me. Oops. Eve forgot to tell Alex of her trip to Orlando last night. I let him believe my lack of sleep was all because of the fire. My bad. My face felt hot. Could I be blushing? Or was that a hot flash? Early menopause, maybe.

  Sammy must have caught something in Alex’s voice; his own sounded wary as he said, “I’m not taking Eve with me tonight though.”

  “You could use back-up, couldn’t you?”

  They agreed to go together. I would be their back-up, though they didn’t know it.

  I’d convinced Madeleine that Alex and I needed some time together alone to “reconnect.” I did not tell her we would be doing it by chasing down the lead with Mrs. Warren. There’s nothing like chasing clues to bring a couple closer. There was no sense in getting Madeleine’s hopes up, only to have to tell her the contact was a dead end. I wanted Madeleine to focus on getting our new shop together rather than obsessing about David.

  “So guess what I did while you and Alex were doing whatever?” she asked me when Alex dropped me off at the motor coach.

  I could tell she’d been rearranging the merchandise to make the displays work better. The inside looked more posh than our store had.

  “Other than turning this into the fanciest store in Sabal Bay? It looks wonderful.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you approve. I was worried you wouldn’t like it. I don’t really have your fashion sense.”

  “It’s perfect.” I gave her a hug. “So what else did you do?”

  “I spent about an hour driving it down the roads around here and out onto the highway too. You can’t be the only one who drives this bus.”

  Well, that must have been quite a sight. Tiny Madeleine Boudreau piloting a giant motor home down the street, only the top of her flaming red curls showing through the driver side window.

  “How did you see over the dash?” I asked.

  “Pillows.” She pointed to the three pillows stacked on the driver’s seat. “I moved the seat all the way up so I could reach the pedals. I even drove it over to the county jail and visited David today.”

  I held my breath. Would he have told her what Alex and I were doing?

  “He told me Alex was going to follow up on the family of the kid he shot. Is that where Alex is going now?”

  “Uh, I don’t really know.”

  “Well, we have the late afternoon left. Let’s take this buggy down the road to the flea market on the coast. I think they’re open tonight, too.”

  No, no, no. I had to be at the casino tonight, but if I didn’t want Madeleine to worry about anything related to David’s case, I couldn’t tell her my plans. I didn’t want anybody to know.

  “I’ve got a better idea. Tonight is that Texas hold ’em tournament at the casino. Let’s take her over there. We can tap into some sales before the tournament gets going. It’s closer than the coast and we have a permit to sell there, don’t we?”

  “Nappi got us permits to sell almost any place in this state. We could probably pull into the state capital parking lot and set up there.” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s go.”

  Now all I had to do was find an excuse to be absent from the rig for a while. If there was anything I’d learned over the past year or so of chasing bad guys, it was how to tell inventive lies. I’d come up with something.

  I let Madeleine drive. That was a mistake.

  “This thing is so big, I feel like I own the road.” Madeleine hugged the center line as the headlights approached us.

  “I think you should get over a bit,” I said.

  She held a steady line. The other car swerved off the road onto the shoulder.

  “See. People get out of our way.”

  “You still have to obey the basic rules of the road ….” Another set of headlights approached us. This pair was connected to a pickup truck, a dualie—one of those big boys with dual wheels in the back. This one wasn’t giving way. A game of chicken had begun.

  Madeleine leaned forward over the wheel and gripped it so tight I thought her knuckles would crack. The pickup driver continued to come straight at us.

  “Move over, you putz!” she yelled.

  At the last moment, he did.

  She shot me a self-satisfied grin. “That’s how it’s done.”

  I was just beginning to realize that it was dangerous business to give an undersized woman an oversized vehicle then place her on one of Florida’s narrower roads with little in the way of shoulders.

  Several more near misses, and we were at the casino. Madeleine pulled up to the entrance, and I jumped out to confer with one of the casino’s employees about where we could park for maximum exposure. I showed him our permit. He contacted someone on his walkie-talkie, and for a moment, I worried we would be tossed out of the place, but after several minutes of back and forth between the guy, his walkie-talkie, and a man in a suit who seemed to have the final say over our request, we were directed down the sidewalk to an area just beyond the entrance. I got out our free-standing sign and placed it in front of the bus.

  “This is great. The light is wonderful here. Everyone can see us.” Madeleine eyes danced around in their sockets as if they were doing the bossa nova.

  I wanted everyone to see the business, but I wasn’t sure I wanted everyone to see me. Too late. Alex and Sammy strode up to the bus.

  “Whose idea was it to come here?” asked Alex.

  “Eve’s. Isn’t she smart?” Madeleine said.

  Smart, that’s me. Snoopy, that’s me too.

  Alex grabbed my arm and led me to the other side of the bus, away from Sammy and Madeleine.

  “I know what you’re up to.”

  I gazed up into his azure eyes and tried for the most innocent look I could muster. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Sammy. Bernard’s roommate. Poker slugs. You know.”

  “Oh, that. Well, that’s up to you and Sammy, isn’t it?” I continued to look up at him. If I didn’t blink soon, my eyes would become permanently locked in a wide-eyed stare.

  “Okay. Fine then. Stay out of this,” he said.

  When we returned to the front of the bus, Sammy was gone. And so was Madeleine.

  She popped her head out of the door as several women stepped down off the bus.

  “Which way did he go, Madeleine?” Alex scanned the crowds of people entering the casino.

  “I don’t know. I was busy with customers. Say, what are the two of you doing here anyway? I never knew you to be gamblers.” Madeleine placed her fists on her hips and tapped her foot indignantly.

  “Sammy wanted me to meet some of the folks he knows who run this place, that’s all.” Alex was getting as good at lying as I was.

  I caught sight of a tall man with a head of inky black hair turning the corner toward the other end of the entrance. I dashed after him, trying not to lose him in the dim lights around the side of the building. By the time I turned the corner, he’d disappeared. I heard screeching tires and saw taillights head for the back exit. Sammy? Had someone taken Sammy?

  Chapter 12

  Alex caught up with me, and the two of us watched the taillights of the retreating car dim and then disappear as it turned out of the parking lot onto the road.

  “I’m sure I saw Sammy come this way, then nothing except for that car.” I clenched my fists in frustration.

  “This doesn’t look good. He told me he was supposed to meet Bernard’s roommate and get an introduction to the poker guys. Someone should follow that car and—”

  “I only have the bus. You follow it. I know what the roommate looks like. I’ll see if I can spot him inside.”

  Before Alex could say no, I ran off toward the casino, waving at Madeleine as I sped by. “Be back in a jiffy. Sell, girl, sell!”

  This casino was not far from Sabal Bay, but almost an hour from the coast. It was smaller than the huge Miccosukee Casino farther south, just off US 41. It certainly wasn’t grand, either, no fancy bars and restau
rants—only worn and tired carpeting and gray and dingy walls—but it served rural Floridians’ need to toss away their money and drink without having to travel too far. That was my take on gambling.

  Because of the poker tournament, the place was packed with customers. And smoky. Only one small area had been designated nonsmoking. Bright lights, the noise of coins hitting metal trays, and smoke assaulted me as I walked up and down next to the lines of people at the slots. No Oscar. I’ve always found casinos exciting for the first few minutes or so, then all the game sounds and people shouting and talking give me a headache. I’m no gambler. I play the slots until I lose my twenty dollars. That usually happens fast, then I’m out the door or sipping a Cosmo at the bar. I doubt I’ve been inside any casino for longer than twenty minutes.

  I checked the other games. Still no sight of him. Maybe he’d gone into the room where the tournament was being played. I’d try that. Sure enough, back in the corner surrounded by several guys his own age, stood Oscar. He wasn’t watching the game. His eyes traveled the room, looking for someone. When they came to rest on me, they looked startled, then full of fear. I saw him start to leave, but I was too quick for him.

  “Oscar. Don’t you want to introduce me to your pals? Didn’t you say you had some friends you wanted me to meet?”

  One of the young men gave me a once over. “This your mom, Oscar?”