A Sporting Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “To find Sammy.”

  “I thought we’d already found him.”

  “We lost him again. And Grandfather too.”

  “Was he bleeding a lot? Were there broken bones? Does he smell like hospital antiseptic?” Now Jerry looked worried.

  “We’re going to the airboat business. You can wait in the car or play around with the boat. I don’t care.”

  I wasn’t in the mood for Jerry’s neurotic ramblings about the healing professions and wounded people. I was worried about Sammy.

  “You think I’m being childish about this blood and needles thing, don’t you?”

  I pulled into the airboat business parking lot and slammed on my brakes.

  “Okay, Jerry. Here’s what I think. First, I think it’s kind of crazy to be so phobic about doctors and medical people, especially considering the business you’re in. Mob folks get hurt a lot. Second, this is not all about you. Why do you try to make everything your issue? In fact, get your ass out of my car, come with me to the house, and tell Sammy how sorry you are about his condition. Man up, Jerry.” I spit out the last sentence. I knew I was being hard on him, but I’d put up with his adolescent behavior for too long. Time for him to grow a set of gumptions.

  “Uh, okay.” He slowly got out of the car. “But I’ve got a question.”

  “What now?”

  “What if they’re not there?”

  “Then you just got lucky.” I pushed him ahead of me up the grassy path to the house.

  Grandfather Egret sat on the porch in his rocking chair looking as if he’d been there all day or all his life.

  “He’s inside.” Grandfather nodded toward the house.

  “Did you tell him about Bernard?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Grandfather’s voice was hoarse with sadness.

  I left Jerry on the porch to practice his apologies for not visiting at the hospital. As I opened the door I heard Grandfather say, “I know. I hate hospitals too. Too white. No character.”

  Sammy sat at the kitchen table. Someone had removed his IV. The pole holding the drip had been shoved against the far wall.

  “You’re going to have to talk to the authorities sooner or later.” I pulled out the chair across from his and sat.

  “Later will do just fine.” He sipped a cup of coffee and gestured toward the pot. “Have some?”

  “No thanks.” I waited, thinking if I could demonstrate patience for once in my life he might talk to me. No such luck. Sammy continued drinking his coffee, looking up now and then to meet my gaze, then shifting his eyes to the wall behind me. I finally caved.

  “What happened? Or won’t you talk to me either?”

  “You don’t understand, do you?”

  I sighed. “Maybe I do. It was a shock to learn of your nephew’s death, especially since you think it could have been prevented if the authorities had taken his disappearance seriously. And you need a little time to yourself to grieve. And you also think that the authorities will just shove your abduction to the back burner because they will assume you went on a toot like they think all Indians do and then got in a fight.”

  Sammy looked surprised for a minute, then nodded.

  “You know Frida doesn’t think that, don’t you?”

  “Sure, but the Indian telegraph says she’s off both the murder cases, so I can’t see what difference it makes what she believes.” Sammy picked up the pot and filled his cup again.

  “I think Linc might be open to hearing your story.”

  Sammy made a dismissive harrumphing sound. “Linc Tooney, you mean Looney Tunes?”

  “What?”

  “Linc and I went to high school together. He was kind of the class clown. All the kids called him ‘Looney Tunes’ after the cartoons.”

  “So that makes him a bad guy?”

  “No. Being a cop may, however.”

  “Frida told me the authorities are taking your abduction seriously.” I was about to spell out for him how the sheriff thought all these crimes were linked. I knew he’d find that theory as absurd as I did, and we’d be back to square one—the place where Sammy saw the authorities as worse than idiots.

  We were getting nowhere. I didn’t want to be cruel, but I sidestepped his grief at his nephew’s death and the pain of his own injuries and plunged ahead in true Eve Appel fashion—damn the consequences or people’s feelings.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened to you or not, Sammy? Or is our friendship worth nothing?”

  “Would you prefer Scotch rather than coffee?” he said. “I don’t think there’s any here.”

  “I’d prefer the truth. Maybe you have a reason to be feeling so sorry for yourself, but it won’t help us find Bernard’s killer.”

  The candor in my words registered in his eyes. “Okay, but let’s get more comfortable.”

  “Fine.” I got out of my chair and started toward the couch.

  “No, the bedroom.” He smiled and winked at me, then grimaced as he tried to rise from the chair.

  “See, this is why you should be in the hospital.” I slipped my shoulder under his arm and helped him into the back bedroom.

  “Don’t lecture me,” he said.

  If he hadn’t been in such pain, I could have told him that lecturing was not on my mind, not when I was tucking a tall, muscular man with mahogany skin into bed.

  A clothes bureau sat at the foot of the bed. A rickety chair with books and a lamp on it served as a bedside table. The space was so tiny there was hardly room for one person to stand between the bed and the door. And here we were once more, alone with our uneasiness at being forced into physical closeness.

  I plumped his pillow and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Better?” I asked.

  “Much.”

  His gaze locked with mine. There was more than friendship in it, more than warmth. I felt as if we’d set the room on fire.

  “Hi, Sammy. How’s it going?” Jerry’s head appeared in the doorway. I hadn’t heard him turn the knob to open the door. Cursed by Jerry’s timing! Or had he saved me from doing or saying something I’d later regret?

  “C’mon in,” said Sammy.

  When I looked at Sammy’s face, I wondered if I’d imagined the whole burning exchange of looks thing. He seemed to be genuinely happy to see Jerry. He held out his good hand, and they shook. Jerry sat down on the bed beside me. I was wedged in between two men, kind of a turkey breast sandwich made with one slice of whole wheat, one slice of white bread.

  “I really want to apologize to you. I should have visited you in the hospital. Eve told me I’m an insensitive SOB.”

  “No, you’re not,” Sammy said at the same time I said, “You really are, Jerry.”

  Jerry acted as if he intended to settle in for a chat, and I knew that was just the excuse Sammy needed not to talk about his abduction. I had to find a way to get Jerry out of the room.

  “Get out of here, Jerry. Sammy and I need to talk.”

  Sammy shook his head. “We could do it later.”

  “No we couldn’t. Jerry, go ask Grandfather Egret about gambling. He knows a lot about poker and craps.” Of course, I had no idea if he did or not, but Jerry took the bait.

  “Right. Take care of yourself.” Jerry backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Now, where were we?” I asked, then reconsidered my question. “I mean, you were about to tell me what happened to you.”

  Sammy paused a moment, then sighed in resignation. “You know the guys that set up Bernard for gambling grabbed me outside the casino.”

  “And you got a good look at them?”

  “No. It happened fast and they were pros. They drove the car up beside me. Two of them grabbed me—they were big guys—one hit me over the head, and that’s all I remember until I woke up some time later.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, some kind of a shack or house, I think. I was tied up, blindfolded, gagged, and my back was up against a woo
den wall. I think I was there only one night. They took me out of there and dragged me into the woods, then shoved me into a cage. I could feel the bars on my legs, back, and side when I tried to move around. I don’t know how long I was there, but I had no food and no water. I decided I needed to make a break when an opportunity presented itself. They took me out of the cage—I’m pretty sure it was night by the temperature and the animal sounds—and I knocked one of them off balance and started to run. I couldn’t see where I was going, but I figured being blind in the woods was preferable to being starved in a cage or whatever else they might have planned for me.”

  “And that’s when they shot you?”

  Sammy nodded. “Then they loaded me into the back of a pickup. After about an hour of traveling on unpaved roads, we stopped. They got out, dropped the tailgate, and I heard someone approach the truck and stand there for several minutes, as if he was examining me. I had the sense they were shining a light on me. I was being displayed as some kind of specimen. But I’m not clear about that, because my shoulder was hurting so bad by that time that I was in and out of consciousness. I heard the tailgate slammed back into place and voices. It sounded like an argument.”

  “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  Sammy closed his eyes for a moment as if concentrating on the images in his head. “One guy said, ‘you fools’ and another said, ‘so you don’t want him’ and then a ‘get rid of him,’ from the first man. I heard an engine and the sound of a vehicle leaving. I must have lost consciousness for a while. When I awoke, I was back in that cage, and I could hear men talking. This time I tried to listen carefully. All I got was one man saying, ‘I’m not doing his dirty work for him. Dump the Indian.’ ”

  “Would you recognize the voices if you heard them again?”

  “I might be able to pick them out of others, but I’m not about to do that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One of the voices I did recognize.”

  My heart jumped in anticipation. “Who was it?”

  “Sheriff Leopold.”

  Now I understood why Sammy didn’t want to talk to the authorities.

  Chapter 18

  I knew the Sabal Bay Police and the county sheriff’s office would catch up with Sammy and force him to talk with them, but I didn’t know how much he’d be willing to say. I hoped they would stay away from the service for Bernard and not try to seize that opportunity to ask Sammy or other family members questions about his disappearance. I was sure Linc wouldn’t be so crude, but what about the sheriff’s department?

  I was visiting Sammy with Alex the evening before Bernard’s funeral when a county deputy and Linc showed up. I was relieved they were showing some sensitivity in choosing the privacy of Sammy’s home to question him. He tried to avoid taking their questions by saying he was too beaten up to discuss his abduction.

  “But you managed to sneak out of your hospital bed yesterday,” Linc said.

  “Look, I think it was all a misunderstanding. The guys who nabbed me mistook me for someone else. They let me go, so what’s the big deal?”

  “The deal is that you got shot and we’re comparing the bullet found in your shoulder with the one that killed your nephew. Even if they nabbed the wrong guy, which I doubt, they still committed a criminal act. We want them,” Linc said.

  “Just find out who shot Bernard.” Sammy shrugged his shoulders and turned to face the wall.

  Linc and the deputy left the bedroom. I heard the deputy say, “Damn Indians. First they want us to take the disappearance of one of them seriously; then they want us to dismiss it. He probably was drunk or high on something.”

  I would have been out the door to tell him what I thought of his prejudice, but Alex restrained me. Sammy gave me one of his shy grins. Through the open door I saw Grandfather get up from his porch rocker and step in front of the deputy.

  “No one invited you here, but I am inviting you to leave and take your mean mouth with you. We’re grieving the loss of a good boy, and I think the family and the tribe are due a little respect.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Egret,” said Linc. “I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said. He’s just overzealous and wants to wrap up this case. Two men have been killed, a hunting client and Bernard, then Sammy is taken and shot. We’re concerned.”

  “No, you’re not, not really,” said Grandfather. “You’re worried leaving the murders unsolved will make you look bad, and the sheriff is coming up for reelection, isn’t he?”

  “We’re out of here.” The deputy headed to his car, then turned and walked back to the porch. “You think about this. Next time you need us, we may not be there for you.”

  I heard the county cruiser and Linc’s SUV pull out of the drive and turned my attention back to Sammy.

  “How are you, really?” I asked.

  “Well enough to go to the service for Bernard tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be there too—Madeleine, Alex, and I.”

  “Don’t. I know you mean well, Eve, but leave the tribe members to ourselves. I don’t think white faces would go over big just now.”

  The next morning, Madeleine and I drove south on the Turnpike to sell at the largest flea market in southeast Florida.

  Since we travelled on the turnpike with three wide lanes in either direction, I let Madeleine drive. She needed the practice, something I wasn’t keen on her doing on the narrow country roads around the lake. Besides, I felt safe. I was wearing Grandfather’s amulet. I patted it for reassurance.

  “Alex told me he hasn’t been very successful getting workers at the Reed ranch to talk about their poor treatment, even after they’ve been let go,” she said. Another large motor home blasted past us, creating a side wind that threatened to push us onto the right shoulder. Gripping the wheel with her tiny hands, Madeleine kept the rig in the lane.

  “Nice work holding her steady.”

  Madeleine took her eyes off the road for a moment, and the motor home drifted toward the left lane.

  “Hey, watch it!” I saw the angry, white face of a dump-truck driver who swerved left to avoid us. He shook his fist as he breezed past.

  “Alex is trying his best to discover how Reed is involved in the client’s death,” I said, “and I suspect we’ll also find he had something to do with Bernard’s murder.”

  “I know you hate the guy, and I do too, but wishing he was the guilty party doesn’t make it so. How is he connected with an Indian college student who was becoming addicted to gambling?” Once again Madeleine started to turn her head to look at me.

  “Don’t do that!” I said. “Eyes ahead, or we won’t be able to help David because we’ll be splattered all over the turnpike.”

  She gritted her teeth and concentrated on the road.

  “The authorities have arrested David’s foreman, Dudley, for Bernard’s murder and for shooting Sammy. And that’s absurd.” I crossed my arms over my chest and sat back in my seat.

  “Sammy must know something the authorities can use to catch Bernard’s killer or killers. Doesn’t he have any idea who nabbed him?”

  I thought of what Sammy said about Sheriff Leopold being at the scene when he was thrown into the bed of the pickup. “He knows too much, I think.”

  Madeleine turned her head to look at me and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Madeleine!”

  “Yeah, I know. Eyes on the road, but when you say something like that, what do you expect me to do?”

  She was right. “I’ll tell you all about it when we get to the market.” I added, “We need Frida back on this case.”

  As with the market in Stuart, we had been given a spot for our motor home near the other vendors selling used merchandise. We were enough south of West Palm that we attracted an entirely new clientele, not from the Stuart or West Palm area, but nearer to Ft. Lauderdale. Our customers turned out to be mostly snowbirds and not full-time Florida residents. This market was even busier than the one in Stuart, and trade was
heavy from the moment we set out the sign and opened the motor home door. We seemed to have found a new lucrative locale for sales. Maybe a shop on wheels wasn’t so bad.

  When we arrived back in Sabal Bay, Alex waited at my house with good news. He’d located someone who worked for Reed around the time Mrs. Warren had left there and when Reed took on his new foreman.

  “The guy wasn’t eager to talk to me, but he finally caved when I told him about the murder of David’s client. He said he knew David and respected him. He couldn’t believe he could be responsible for killing anyone. Anyway, the guy’s name is Luis Mendoza now and he works at one of the produce stands in the local flea market here. Nice fellow, but wary of police. He came here from Guatemala after armed troops came in and massacred hundreds of the Indians there. He was one of the lucky ones, getting out with his life and his family.” Alex sat on my couch and sipped a beer. I could tell from the expression on his face that he wished he had a better lead, but he wanted to make as much of this one as he could. “Luis is a guy who keeps his head down. He wants no trouble with the local law enforcement people.”

  Madeleine perched on the arm of the couch nearest Alex. She leaned forward, expression open and eager, and said, “And?” She wanted him to get on with his story.

  “And Luis told me Reed was bad enough, punishing his men by hitting them or taking a whip to them, but things got worse when the new foreman showed up. That guy he called El Diablo, the devil. He took the men into the woods and sometimes tied them to trees overnight, left them there until the next day, no food, no water.”

  “And he looks like the innocent one with his blue eyes, freckled face, and blond hair,” Madeleine said.

  “The perfect cover for a psychopath,” I said. “Did Luis say anything about Sheriff Leopold? Did you ask him about the sheriff?”

  “I did, and that’s when he said he couldn’t talk to me anymore. He turned his back and busied himself with other customers.”

  “Which creep do you favor for the killer?” I asked, “Reed, his foreman, or the sheriff? Or all three, a deadly mix of depraved men?”