In my four-inch stilettos—and you can be sure I was wearing my four-inch stilettos, I tower at least six feet two inches. This guy was a pimply faced five nine. I walked up to him, stopped an inch away from his face, and looked down into his jumpy pale eyes.
“I’m a friend. That’s all you need to know, boy.”
He gulped and moved backward an inch or so. I looked at the others, letting my gaze slide from one set of eyes to the next, slowly giving them my best in-your-face-Eve-the-bitch look.
“Uh, sure.” Oscar gave names and introduced me as Ms. Appel. I saw one of the guys about to laugh, but I held up a finger as if to silence him. He looked at his feet and said nothing.
I produced what I hoped was a wicked, cold smile and grabbed Oscar’s arm.
“Those idiots aren’t the ones Bernard met, are they?”
He shook his head.
“I told them I had another guy for them to meet, but they haven’t showed yet.”
“And you also stupidly described Sammy to them, right?”
“Well, yeah. I had to, in case I couldn’t make it tonight.”
“You might not have made it tonight? You were told to make it. No excuses.” I grabbed him by his shirt collar and began to shake him.
“But stuff can come up.” Or at least I think that’s what he said. His teeth were clacking together so hard from my shaking, I really couldn’t say for certain. One of the employees came over and asked us if anything was wrong.
I let go of Oscar’s collar but kept my hand on his arm. “Nothing, nothing, except my nephew was dumb enough to lose all his money at the dollar slots. In the first hour we were here. Dumb kid.” Oscar hung off my hand like an overcooked beet top.
“Kids!” the employee said. “They’ll learn. Don’t be too hard on him.”
Not too hard? Oscar might have gotten Sammy killed along with Bernard.
“Can I go now?” Oscar asked.
“Sure.” I shoved him away from me and into the arms of Alex, who had just come up behind Oscar. “Now you can talk to my friend here and then maybe to the cops.”
“He already talked to us,” said Frida, who’d just joined us, accompanied by Linc. “I think he may have given us the same story he gave you and Sammy last night. Maybe you can provide a more accurate story down at the station.”
Alex obliged her by turning terrified Oscar over to Linc, who led him away.
“I want to thank the two of you and Sammy, wherever he is, for screwing up my case. Oscar was going to lead us to the guys Eddie met and gambled with.”
“I don’t think so. I think he set all of us up, but he really did a job on Sammy.” I told her and Alex about Oscar’s describing Sammy to the gambling guys.
“Dumb, damn kid,” Frida said.
We nodded our heads in agreement.
Alex told Frida about trying to chase down the car we thought Sammy might have been thrown into and being unable to catch it. “I never got close enough to catch a plate number.”
“Did you see a fight? Are you certain Sammy was taken?” asked Frida.
“Not certain. Neither of us saw what happened, but there must have been some kind of scuffle. I found his hat on the ground.” Alex held up Sammy’s hat, the one with the silver hatband.
Frida reached out and took the hat. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. I’ll take a look outside if you show me where you found the hat. Then you’d better wait back at your car, Alex. In case he returns. I’ll take a walk through the casino. He could still be around here someplace.”
“What about me?” I said. I wanted an assignment too.
“You get back to the bus,” Alex said. “You’re supposed to be helping Madeleine sell clothes to take her mind off David. Be her best friend, would you?”
He was right. I should be a better friend to her instead of running all over, trying to play tough little sleuth.
I nodded and headed for the bus.
“You abandoned me to gamble.” Madeleine sounded both hurt and furious. I couldn’t blame her. I’d left her with the whole responsibility for our business.
“Sorry.”
“Do I need to send you to Gamblers Anonymous tomorrow?”
“I’ll be fine. I think I’ve had my fill of gambling for a while.”
She looked at me for a long time, and I wondered if she suspected I was keeping something from her. I didn’t have a good lie made up for this occasion.
“I’ll do better,” I said. “No more casinos.”
“Good. Then we’ll go to the flea market on the coast tomorrow like I suggested originally. We didn’t do too much business here. These ladies are into collecting quarters in cups, not making fashion statements with their apparel. Did you see how most of them dressed?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t noticed.
“See that woman leaving? The one with that tall, skinny guy? That’s what I mean. White blouse, mauve slacks with an elastic waist, no pizzazz at all. Maybe we should give fashion makeovers. What to wear for … you know.”
Madeleine had a good idea but I wasn’t listening because I was concentrating on the woman and man she’d pointed out. In the dim light it was hard to see the woman’s face, but the salt and pepper curls certainly belonged to Mrs. Warren, the mother of the boy David had shot. And the man whose hand she was holding? Maybe he was her pipe smoker.
Later that night, after Madeleine and I had parked the motor coach in our slot at the local flea market and I’d denied Alex a sleepover because I was too knackered to be friendly, the phone rang. It was Grandy, and I immediately felt guilty. I hadn’t talked to her in several days. I started to apologize, but she interrupted me.
“I know you’re busy, love. And it’s okay. You don’t have to check in with me, unless you’ve been up to something I might like to know about, something like a murder, maybe.” She laughed. “How many killings can one sassy gal stumble into?”
How many indeed. So far I counted three over the year since I’d moved to Sabal Bay.
Her tone turned serious. “You have been keeping something from me, haven’t you?”
I gulped. There were so many things. Where did I start?
She kept on, “Do I have to hear about your business becoming fodder for a local barbeque from Mr. Napolitani? I like the man, don’t get me wrong, and I can even ignore his, uh, choice of professions, but you are my granddaughter.”
I began apologizing again, and again she stopped me.
“I know most of it. The rest can wait. I’m coming up there tomorrow to help you out. Max is doing an overhaul of our cantankerous engine again, and I’m no help to him, so I’ve got free time. See you around eight.”
She hung up.
That was my Grandy. Always on top of things, even when I didn’t want her to be. She’d heard the story about the fire from Nappi? How close were those two, anyway? It sounded like they talked more often than she and I did.
I set my alarm for seven, enough time for me to shower, make coffee, and choose an appropriate wardrobe for the first day of selling on the coast. I hoped the flea market there was a bit more sophisticated than our local casino. We were losing money and needed to regain lost ground fast. I made a mental note to check our inventory. One of us should visit our ladies in West Palm to see if they had any goodies for our shop. Maybe I’d drive the bus down there on Monday evening after I made a few calls. It couldn’t hurt to show off our traveling shop to the wealthy matrons of the coast. But I couldn’t turn off my brain. The image of Sammy lying somewhere, hurt or dead, kept me awake until the early hours of the morning.
The alarm must have gone off and I ignored it, because the next thing I knew Grandy was hovering over my bed. Lucky for me she was hovering with a cup of hot coffee in her hand.
“Eve, wake up. Madeleine’s here with the bus. We need to hit the road. It’ll take us a good forty-five minutes to get to Stuart and then a few more to set up.”
I scrambled out of bed, gave Grandy a hug, and jumped in
to the shower.
When we walked out of the house, I saw Madeleine sitting in the driver’s seat. I visualized the narrow road that led to Stuart and groaned. I could see the headlines now: “Local Business Women Found Dead in Wrecked Motor Home. Cause of Death Thought to Be Designer Clothes Obstructing Driver’s Vision.”
“I’ll drive.” I grabbed Madeleine’s arm and pulled her out of the seat. “You drove home last night.”
“And we made it home safely, didn’t we?” she said.
I adjusted the seat and the mirrors while Madeleine stood there, giving me her Madeleine-isn’t-happy look. I ignored her and backed out of the drive.
“She’s a bully … a tall bully.” Madeleine did that flouncing away thing that short girls are so good at, and she curled her bottom lip like a six-year-old.
“It’s no good pouting, my dear,” Grandy said. “Eve is immune to the needs of others when she wants her way.”
Was Grandy taking my side or criticizing me? Ah, well. I was driving.
The flea market in Stuart had been in operation for so many years that folks in the area treated it like any other mall, only with limited hours. Many of the stores were housed in permanent booths in several long buildings on the property. Most of these sold merchandise that was new, while those with used items were set up in less permanent structures, open on either side with only a roof overhead. Behind all these vendors were others featuring used merchandise sold from the backs of utility trailers, vans, cars, trailers, or from under canopies erected for the day. We found our assigned slot in the back, near the parking area. I pulled in between two occupied spaces; one held a canopy, the other a minivan.
“I’m glad you’re the one navigating this narrow space,” said Madeleine. I interpreted that as an apology for her earlier mulish behavior.
Grandy whispered in my ear, “Maybe you should apologize to Madeleine now.”
“For what?” But I did direct a smile in Madeleine’s direction. Grandy just shook her head at me.
By nine thirty we were doing a brisk business, which continued until two in the afternoon, when our trade dropped off to nothing. The market stayed open until three, but we closed an hour early. The three of us talked about the fire.
Madeleine brought up the murder. “Eve thinks the murder and the fire are connected.”
Grandy looked curious.
“I think the Reeds set up David for the murder, and I think Elvira Reed is harassing us as another means of making David’s life miserable.” I was about to tell Grandy about Sammy’s nephew and Sammy’s disappearance, but I decided Madeleine had enough to worry about and shouldn’t know about Sammy right now.
“What’s their motive?” asked Grandy.
“To put David out of the hunting business so Reed won’t have any competition,” Madeleine replied.
“And Elvira just wanted to join in on the fun,” I added.
Grandy thought this over for a minute, then nodded. “The Reeds make a poisonous pair, don’t they?”
My opportunity to talk about Bernard and Sammy came when Madeleine wandered off to see what the petite shop in Building G had to offer. I could tell Grandy wanted to go with her, but I turned my back on Madeleine and mouthed a “no” for Grandy’s eyes only.
Once Madeleine was out of sight, I told Grandy about Bernard and Sammy, and David’s business card in Bernard’s abandoned car.
“I think there’s some kind of a connection, or why else would someone want to implicate David in Bernard’s disappearance?” I said.
Grandy nodded in agreement.
“There’s something else,” I said. “Alex and I thought perhaps the father of the boy David shot in the home invasion might have a motive to set up David.”
“That happened, what, over two years ago. Isn’t that revenge served up icy cold?”
“Losing a child. That has to set hard for a parent. But we found out the father is dead. Or so his wife says. Killed in Afghanistan.”
“Something tells me you don’t believe that story.”
“Alex is checking it out, but I saw her last night with some guy. She’d told us she was alone.”
“It could have been just a date.”
“They looked too comfortable and too fond of each other. He’s in her life. I don’t get why she would lie to us about him.”
“It seems to me you should keep your eye on what concerns you most.” Grandy always got right to the nitty-gritty.
“Like what?”
“Let Alex find out more about Mrs. Warren and the cops follow up on Bernard and Sammy. This Reed couple … the murder and the fire in your store are both too close to them to be a coincidence. I’d sure like to know more about them. And their ranch.”
I was worried about Sammy, but there wasn’t much I could do to find him. I’d leave that to Frida. Grandy was right. We needed more information about the Reeds.
“Someone needs to snoop around their ranch,” Grandy said, “and I don’t mean in the dead of night. I mean legitimate snooping.” Then she laughed. I did too. We were thinking the same thing. Mr. Napolitani might like to spend the day hunting.
“He’s done so much for us already. I hate to ask him for another favor,” I said.
But I didn’t have to ask. Out of the crowd of people milling around the aisle in front of our bus emerged a man in dove gray slacks and a light yellow knit shirt. His black hair was smoothed back except for a solitary lock that the afternoon breeze lifted and flipped onto his broad forehead, giving him a rakish look. His dark good looks caught the attention of several women, who turned to look as he passed by. He stopped in front of our rig, kissed Grandy’s hand and then mine.
“What a beautiful day for the market.” He gestured at the cloudless blue sky. “I trust the day has been profitable? Is there anything I can do to make it even better for you?”
Yes, there was.
Chapter 13
Grandy and I were excited that we had a plan to scope out the Reed’s ranch. Madeleine, less so. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mr. Napolitani, but she, like our detective friend Frida, worried about ethics and legality, issues that Nappi rarely thought about except in his own terms, meaning Family terms. And I do mean capital F, as in Mob. I knew Alex wouldn’t be happy about Nappi’s involvement either, but Grandy was right. We needed to go to the source of all this—Blake Reed and his nasty wife, Elvira.
As we locked up the bus for the night in our flea market parking slot in Sabal Bay, I noticed someone in the shadows near the last building. Nappi had followed us back in his black SUV.
I tapped his shoulder as he drove us out of the parking lot. “I saw someone back there.”
He smiled. “One of my men. Like you, I assume the fire in your former store was arson, and the intention of the fire bug was to destroy your inventory. Now that it’s safely in its new home, I don’t want anyone trying again. My man has been here since Thursday and will remain in place.”
A funny tingle ran up my spine. “It isn’t Jerry, is it? I hate to be negative, but he’ll just fall asleep and let an arsonist rob us blind before he makes toast of both Jerry and our rig.”
Nappi sighed and gave me a parental look. “You really must get beyond this negativity about Jerry. It’s not good for your sense of well-being, my dear.”
“Jerry isn’t good for anyone’s sense of well-being.” I realized I was being ungrateful. “I’ll try to be more Zen about him. Sorry.”
“I like that.” Nappi reached over and patted my hand.
Around my kitchen table, the four of us—Madeleine, Grandy, Nappi and I—planned our strategy.
“I wish I could be in on this visit.” I hated inactivity. Thinking was good, but action was more rewarding—well, most times, anyway. Maybe I could have some fun of my own, though. My earlier thoughts of Jerry reminded me of what he’d said about the grandmas who ran a private poker game, the one in which he’d lost his car by underestimating the power of post-menopausal savvy. Maybe they knew of
other games run off the casino grounds.
I began to hum under my breath. I felt a whole lot better today than I had last night. Things were moving ahead.
Grandy turned a skeptical eye on me. “Why are you making that sound, Eve? You sound like the cat that swallowed a canary then tried to purr with it halfway down. You’ve got something up your sleeve.”
“Sorry. Nope, just thinking that having Nappi check out the Reed ranch is such a good beginning.”
“I don’t like it,” Madeleine said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Something always goes wrong with plans that you have a hand in, that’s why.” Madeleine got up from the table and poured herself another cup of coffee.
“I am wounded to the core that you should feel that way,” I said.
Nappi walked over to her. “Nothing will go wrong. I’m not pretending to be anyone I’m not. I’m just a mob boss who needs some recreational hunting. No lies. No chance of anyone finding out about my ties to you or Eve or David. Don’t worry, little one.”
Madeleine still looked doubtful, so I thought I’d joke her out of her worries.
“Now, if you were in on this caper, then we’d worry. With your clumsiness, who knows who might get hurt?”
Madeleine turned on me, eyes snapping with anger. It was the wrong thing to say—a case of mouth engagement without brain involvement, typical Eve thoughtlessness.
“I am wounded to the core that you should feel that way.” She’d used my exact words.
“Okay, now we’re even.” I waited for her anger to pass. It did. It always did between us. Nothing, but nothing could sever our bond. Unless it was something like keeping information from her—the detail about David’s card in Bernard’s car, for instance. I’d have to tell her sometime. Soon. After Nappi visited the Reed place.
“When are you going?” I asked Nappi.
“Tomorrow or the next day.”
I looked at my watch. It was after eight. I still had the entire evening ahead to do what I needed to do. But first I had to get rid of the three musketeers. A knock on my door was followed by the appearance of Alex, bearing a pizza and a six pack of beer. Now I not only had to get rid of the three musketeers, but also D’Artagnan. And there were so many secrets spinning around in my head that I was getting dizzy trying to keep them all straight with respect to who knew what and who couldn’t be told more.
A Sporting Murder Page 10
