A Sporting Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Mr. Warren was not a favorite employee of the company he was with in Afghanistan. He’d been deployed there previously on three tours of duty with the U.S. Army, and they found him equally—what can I say—irresponsible when it came to dealing with the Afghanis. The military was glad when he decided not to re-up. He was an arms expert, oversaw training of Afghan police and military. He continued in that role with the private company, which hired him to train security people. My associates tell me they were not pleased with his work. He treated the Afghanis like primitives. When he lost his life in the car bombing, it was suspected he might have been targeted by some of the men he was supposed to be working with, but the company never pursued that theory, simply sent the notification and his effects home to his wife and let it go.”

  “No attempt to identify who was killed?” I asked.

  “No. For nonmilitary personnel, it’s a real mess over there. And his company could have cared less. They were glad to pay the small survivor benefits and wash their hands of him. I did find out that one of the men he was training went missing about the same time he was blown to bits.”

  That gave me pause. “So he could have set up that guy to take the hit in the car bombing, then walked away from it and into another identity.”

  “More than likely. It occurred soon after his son was killed. He sent several threatening letters to David. Did you know about them?”

  “Yes, Frida told me. The authorities knew about them too.”

  “Another of my associates claimed to have known him in high school in Illinois,” Nappi said. “The guy has since moved down here and works in a Western wear store over on the west coast.”

  “You have associates in retail? What’s that about?” I shouldn’t have asked.

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Some of my contacts are just like you and me, Eve.”

  Well, maybe like him, but like me? Or did he, when talking with others, claim he had associates in the consignment shop business?

  He continued with his story, “My retail friend said a guy looking like Warren came in the store about a year ago. When my friend approached him, he said his name was Wallace. Is that the name of Reed’s foreman?”

  “No. It’s Mike Hunter.”

  “Hmm. Well, isn’t that fascinating. And you’ll find this even more interesting. Sheriff Leopold and Blake Reed were in the army over in Afghanistan together. And they could have run into Warren there.”

  Well, I’ll be gobsmacked.

  “How did you find out so much at this hour?” I asked.

  I could almost feel him giving me that Cheshire cat smile over the phone. “I hope I’ve been useful to you, my dear.”

  When was he not?

  “Drinks and ribs at the Biscuit tonight?” I asked.

  “Of course.” He disconnected.

  Alex walked back into the room, a Scotch on the rocks in each hand. He handed one to me. I repeated what I’d learned from Nappi.

  Alex’s face clouded up like the storms gathering over the Big Lake. “That guy knows everything. What’s with him? How does he do it? Are you sure this is all true?”

  “He knows lots of stuff, but not everything. I’ll bet he doesn’t know the kind of stuff you do.”

  Alex looked surprised. “Like what stuff?”

  “Stuff there.” I pointed to the bed.

  He tossed my cell out onto the back deck and disconnected my landline. Some “stuff” shouldn’t be interrupted or shared, not even with close friends and important associates.

  I was congratulating myself on getting Alex back into doing his “stuff” when he untangled his leg from mine. “Wait a minute. What you said earlier …. You said there was something we hadn’t considered.”

  I rewrapped by leg around his. “We can consider it later.”

  He turned on the light. “Now.”

  “Alex.” I ground my teeth in frustration.

  “No, really. I can’t sleep or do anything, um, fun because I can’t concentrate. What was it?”

  I gave in. Alex could be as stubborn as me when he wanted to.

  I took a sip of my Scotch. “The break-in at David’s house when he killed the Warrens’ son happened when … about four years ago, wouldn’t you say?”

  Alex nodded.

  “Why did it take Mr. Warren or Mrs. Warren or Moses Ermlich or whoever might be gunning for David so long to work out a way to get him?”

  Now neither of us was in the mood for sleep or that other “stuff.”

  It was just as well we got up and began to play gin rummy because more interruptions were on the way. A rap on my front door ended my three-hand losing streak. The sight of Jerry standing there made me think, Oh, crap, I just lost another one.

  “Who’s taking care of the shop?” Images of it going up in a fireball ran through my head.

  “Oh, no problem. Grandy and Max are here. Well, I mean they’re not here, of course. They’re at the rig, but—”

  “Get on with the story, Jerry.” I stood in the doorway, hands on my hips, blocking Jerry from entering.

  Alex followed me to the door. “What the hell, Eve? Let him in. Gin rummy with two people is boring. And there’s nothing on television at this hour.” Alex waved him into the living room.

  “Well, why didn’t Grandy and Max call me if they were coming?” I followed Jerry as he made his way to the kitchen.

  “They tried, but they couldn’t get through. Your land line rings busy, and your cell just keeps ringing until it goes to voicemail. Got anything to eat?” Jerry pulled his head out of my fridge and started toward the cupboards.

  I remembered Alex tossing the cell into the yard and turning off the unit on my bedside table. Oops.

  “Is there anything wrong?” I asked Jerry, grabbing my wall phone in the kitchen and dialing Grandy’s cell number.

  I couldn’t hear Jerry’s reply. He was continuing his attempt at grazing by poking around in my freezer. “I thought you might at least have an old frozen pizza here.”

  My call connected. “Grandy. Are you okay? Why didn’t you stop by the house?”

  “We’re fine, honey. We drove up this way for a boat part and decided to come on over to visit. But I couldn’t get in touch with you by phone, and when we drove by the house, we saw Alex’s car there, so we figured the two of you needed some time together. We didn’t want to impose on Madeleine at this hour, so we stopped by the rig.”

  “I know you’re there. Jerry came by here.”

  “Oh, dear. He’s really hard to get rid of, isn’t he?”

  Yeah, I thought. Divorcing a man usually creates distance, but Jerry was like a recurrent rash, coming and going, never completely cured.

  Grandy continued talking, “I assumed he had a motel room he could go to when he left here. Well, don’t worry about us. We’re tucked into that little bed in the rear of the motor home. We’re as happy as spooning lovebirds.”

  I tried to imagine birds spooning, but failed.

  “But that bed is tiny. We’re up, and I have the spare room. Come on over here.”

  Jerry tossed a loaf of bread onto the kitchen table and grabbed peanut butter out of my cupboard. He heard what I’d said to Grandy, and in that whiney voice of his asked, “But where will I sleep then?”

  “Does it look as if I’m running a boarding house?” I asked.

  “Of course not, honey, but you know the guy doesn’t have any place here in town to stay except for the motor home.” Alex always seemed to take Jerry’s side. The two had had one male bonding experience some time back. It seemed to have had a lasting effect.

  I held the phone receiver in my hand. Grandy must have heard the discussion. “Don’t be silly, Eve. We’re all tucked in here, and this bed isn’t any smaller than the one on our boat. We’ll see you in the morning. I’ll stop by with donuts.”

  Jerry leaned in to speak into the receiver as he slipped past me on his way to the table. “I love donuts.”

  I gave up
. I was too tired to think straight. “Sleep where you like. I’m off to bed. We’re taking the rig to West Palm tomorrow to visit our longtime clients there. I need some sleep.”

  I stormed off to the bedroom with Alex’s voice calling after me, “Be there soon, babe. I’m just going to have a little snack with Jerry first.”

  Jerry was still talking to Grandy, ordering a dozen chocolate cream-filled donuts for tomorrow morning, when sleep took over. The next thing I knew I smelled peanut butter and felt Alex’s body slide into bed beside mine. My stomach growled. I’d never get to sleep again tonight.

  Chapter 21

  It was a crazy morning. Neither Alex nor I had gotten much sleep. Grandy and Max arrived with donuts—the only thing that moved Jerry out of bed—and Madeleine called to ask where I’d been last night.

  “I called and called, but both your phones kept going to voicemail.”

  “Uh, sorry, but Alex and I needed a little together time.”

  “Oh, how insensitive of me. Of course you did. I’m sorry.”

  And how insensitive of me not to understand how lonely Madeleine must be with David in jail and me out of touch.

  “Grandy and Max stopped by with donuts. Why don’t you join us?”

  “I already had breakfast.”

  “Donuts aren’t really breakfast. They’re like a snack,” I said.

  “For you,” Madeleine said, “but for the rest of us they’re calories we can’t afford. I’ll see you when you pick me up. Say hi to everyone for me.” She disconnected.

  I didn’t want to get Madeleine’s hopes up, so I intended to keep what I knew about Mr. Warren, aka Mike Hunter, to myself. I did share it with Frida when she called, but she chose to sit on it for the time being. She said Linc had checked into Mr. Warren’s background and gotten the same information as Alex and that’s all. When she heard what Nappi had uncovered, she was impressed but skeptical.

  “I’ve got to find a way to verify that through legitimate channels.”

  “What’s not legitimate about Nappi’s contacts?” I asked.

  She hung up on me.

  “Frida still doesn’t trust Nappi,” I said to Alex.

  “And you find that puzzling? No one trusts mobsters.” Alex paused. “Except for you, Eve.”

  I gave him a squinty look, waved goodbye to everyone, and left to pick up the rig.

  First I picked up Madeleine, then the motor home. Realizing that we hadn’t collected our mail for several days, I drove us to the post office. When I stepped inside I heard the music I’d come to associate with my life in Sabal Bay: the sounds of jangling spurs as cowboys from the area checked their post office boxes before they hit the pastures to ride herd on their cattle. I knew some of these guys from dancing with them at the Biscuit. I greeted their cheery hellos and “see you soon for a little two-step” with my own merry hi and a grin. Others tipped their hats to me, and I gave them a smile in return.

  When I pulled the mail out of our box, an envelope of heavy vanilla-colored paper caught my eye among the usual advertisements and bills. It looked like a wedding invitation, but I wasn’t aware of any upcoming events for friends or relatives—either Madeleine’s or mine. I got back into the rig and showed Madeleine the envelope.

  “So open it. Maybe it’s from a business acquaintance.” Madeleine’s tone of voice evidenced little interest, only boredom or maybe fatigue. She tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. I’d only glanced at her this morning when I picked her up. Now I took a longer look. Her freckles stood out in stark contrast to her pale face. The bags under her eyes indicated she hadn’t gotten any more sleep last night than I had. She leaned her head against the passenger side window and stared out the windshield.

  I ripped open the envelope and read the invitation inside.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. She’s got some nerve.” I tossed the contents across the seat to Madeleine.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Read it.”

  Madeleine scanned the paper and then burst into laughter. “That’s really funny, that is.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny at all. Elvira Reed sent us a formal invitation to the special opening of her consignment shop. That’s really shoving it in our faces, don’t you think?”

  “I think we should accept.” Madeleine gave me a devilish smile.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. I’m dying to see what she’s doing with her shop and curious to find out who comes to this shindig. Will it attract any of our clients?”

  Madeleine was right. I was curious too, but I hated to give Elvira the satisfaction of seeing me give in to my curiosity.

  Madeleine eyed me. “Oh, get over it, Eve. What happened to your sense of adventure, your snoopy nature, your need for an opportunity to match wits with the Wicked Witch of the Reed Ranch?”

  “Well, the invite is for Saturday. We’ll do the flea market on the coast then dash back here in the late afternoon. We’ll make her think we’re not going to show and then, bang! There we’ll be. Sure, I need a challenge, and matching nasty remarks with Elvira sounds like my kind of fun.”

  Madeleine gave me a broad grin, the broadest I’d seen since before David was arrested. Elvira had unintentionally provided her with just the lift she needed.

  “Big weekend ahead,” she said.

  I turned on 714 to head down the canopy road to the coast. “What?”

  “You know, the invite, and then there’s Nappi’s hunting at the Reed ranch the following day.”

  I’d almost forgotten.

  We were as successful at the market at Stuart as we’d been when we’d gone farther south the other day. The designer Western wear was a big hit, and I worried we’d be out of merchandise before we had a chance to take our fashions back to Sabal Bay to sell to our faithful customers there. With the rodeo less than a week away, it looked as if we might have to try another run to West Palm and hope the ladies could dig some more boots, cowboy shirts, and fancy jeans with rhinestone-studded pockets out of their closets. The rub was that we really didn’t have the time to make another trip without it cutting into selling time.

  We’d had no opportunity to take a break during the morning and by early afternoon both of us were starving. The smell of kettle corn from one of the nearby stands tempted me, so during a lull, I dashed over and grabbed two bags. Madeleine and I sat in our chairs outside the rig and munched on our treat. When I told her my thinking about the upcoming rodeo and our diminishing inventory, she agreed we needed to find more items.

  She licked the salt and sugar from her fingers and took a slug of her bottle of water. “We’ll have to split up again. One of us sells, and the other picks up merchandise.”

  I preferred the more flexible schedule of finding items to sell than the selling. I knew Alex wouldn’t be very forthcoming about what was happening with Mrs. Warren and Moses. Had they returned home? Was there any sign of them elsewhere? He would not keep me in the loop, so I’d have to do some footwork myself. That meant I’d need time to go visit the Warren home, check it out and then try to wheedle information out of Frida. Maybe Frida didn’t know anything either. She’d been shoved to the sidelines. Perhaps she might be interested in joining me in a little snooping. Tomorrow might be a perfect time.

  “Eve, are you listening to me?” Madeleine’s voice broke into my musings.

  “Sorry, but I’m a little distracted this morning.”

  “I guess that invitation from Elvira really got to you, huh?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Right.”

  “So I’ll sell here the rest of the week and Saturday and be back in Sabal Bay in time to get ready for Elvira’s opening on Saturday. You hop down to West Palm for more clothes.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to driving this thing on that narrow canopy road?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  I arched my eyebrow in skepticism. I knew it wasn’t nice to doubt her, but I didn’t want the rig off the road in the swamp
kissing a palm tree and disturbing the local wildlife.

  Madeleine returned my look with one of irritation. “I’ll show you. When we leave here, I’ll drive home.”

  Oh, oh. What I liked less than the idea of Madeleine in the swamp was me in there with her.

  I gave in, knowing I couldn’t deny her a chance to prove herself right. “Fine, but don’t kill us or wreck this thing. It’s not ours, you know. It’s only on loan.”

  Her eyes filled with tears this time.

  “Oh, c’mere.” I pulled her to me and gave her a big hug. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  “I missed the tree, didn’t I?” Madeleine asked as she maneuvered the rig into our parking spot in the local flea market. Jerry was there to meet us.

  I tried to smile and look reassuring as I noticed her backing the rig too close to the building. “Uh, maybe you should leave a little more space between—” I didn’t get the opportunity to finish my sentence. A scraping sound from the rear of the rig interrupted me.

  “Damn. Where did that come from?” she asked.

  “That’s one of the structures that’s been there for about twenty or so years. Kind of sneak up on you, don’t they?” I said.

  Madeleine laid her forehead against the steering wheel and began to sob. “I’ll never get the hang of it. Never.”

  Jerry hopped into the passenger’s side and seeing Madeleine’s distress as well as the rig’s proximity to the building, offered to help. “If you’ve got some time right now, I could take you out and give you a few pointers.”

  I decided not to tell him she’d already had several lessons from both me and Nappi. Who knew? Maybe Jerry would excel as a teacher where we had missed the mark.

  “Great idea.” I was almost convinced that nothing could help her drive the thing, but having her occupied for some of the evening might leave an opening for me to check on Mrs. Warren and Moses. It was probably better to snoop around under cover of darkness than tomorrow in broad daylight.

  I waved her and Jerry off to their driving experience, crossing my fingers that the rig would suffer no ill effects and they would return alive, with Madeleine now an accomplished driver. Yeah, like that would happen.