A Sporting Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  Last night I had watched the pig move through the clearing where the shack stood and then make its way east. I remembered the condition of the waterhole the day we found David’s client dead nearby—how the wild pigs had torn it up. I assumed it was a favorite place for pigs to gather, and I thought I heard the croaking of frogs and maybe the call of a gator coming from that direction.

  “You’d better get going, Eve,” Reed said. “Run.”

  Shoes in hand, I took off, my long legs pumping as fast as they could go, heading east toward what I hoped was the waterhole, closer to David’s ranch and maybe closer to Sammy. Sammy might be at the ranch, and he might be patrolling the area. It was a wild chance and a risk. I knew that most animals would be coming to the water to drink in the morning before they went off to do their own hunting for the day. I might have company, but if I got that far, I thought I knew my way from the waterhole to the main buildings on David’s property. Reed couldn’t chance taking his men off his property onto David’s, could he?

  The sound of the vehicle engines faded into the morning, replaced by the voices of men and the sounds of them moving through the brush, coming closer despite my attempt to put distance between us. But they’d probably had a full breakfast and a good night’s sleep. The adrenaline rush I was experiencing was from fear. Theirs was from excitement. I was fleeing. They were sportsmen hunting an unusual prey.

  I broke through some dense brush and into the muddy area surrounding the waterhole. I stopped and scanned the surface of the murky water and the torn up bank. It looked as if several pigs had visited it recently. I could see their hoof prints in the soggy ground. And there were other prints, larger ones, like those of cattle wandering away from their herd. I stood for a minute listening, but could only hear my pursuers behind me. I took a step into the open and waited.

  “Sammy!” I yelled. “Sammy. I need help.”

  All sounds behind me ceased for a moment, then the scuffling began again. To my left from among the reeds growing high near the water, a dark shape emerged, its curved horns lethal looking, the broad plate of material across its forehead bulging like armor. It turned toward me, grasses hanging from its mouth. It swung its head as if enraged at the sight of someone invading its domain. Saliva swung in long slimy strands from it nose. It stopped chewing and pawed the earth. Wow, it’s huge, I thought, and then it began to move toward me. I could almost hear the earth shake as it gathered speed. The blackness of the beast’s eyes reminded me of Blake Reed’s, devoid of all that was human, intent upon killing.

  I knew I could not outrun it, but a few feet behind me loomed a giant live oak. The lower branches hung near the ground, close enough for me to grab one and swing onto it, then leap from there to a higher one. And yet higher. The angry beast came to rest under me, bellowing as if challenging me to come down and fight. Fear made me giddy, and I laughed.

  “I’m staying right up here, fella.” As if to underline my intent to stay far out of reach but not to let the challenge go unanswered, I threw one of my lovely black stilettos at him. The shoe ricocheted off the horn plate and fell to the ground. The buffalo lowered its head, sniffed the offending object for a moment, then began to stomp on it. I watched in horror with the realization that it could as easily have been me beneath those huge hooves. The buffalo tired of its game, raised its head and shook it, then ran off into the brush. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the ping of a shot hitting the tree branch next to my face started my heart racing once more.

  Blake Reed moved into the clearing and his eyes came to rest on me. “Now that’s not much fun for anybody. The prey up a tree, just sitting there, waiting to be shot. Get down from there, Eve, or the next shot will wound—not enough to kill, but it will hurt, I guarantee you.”

  I shook my head and pointed to what was left of my shoe. “The buffalo did that.”

  Reed threw back his head and laughed.

  “I’ve got business to attend to so if you insist on sitting there in that tree, maybe I’ll leave you to it. The boys will be here soon. They got sidetracked by a wild pig they decided to pick off before they finished with you. So sit there and think about it. There’s no place you can go anyway.”

  I heard his laugher as he made his way back into the brush.

  Soon the area grew quiet with only an occasional shout from far way, but I knew Reed wasn’t lying to me. I’d be an easy target for the hunters soon enough. Did I dare come down from the partial safety of this limb? I was puzzling that one out when I heard someone or something making its way through the brush. Hunter emerged from behind a stand of palm trees and moved toward me.

  “You think Reed’s going to get rid of me, don’t you?” he asked. “You think that’s why he didn’t care who saw me set that fire.”

  “Duh, Hunter. That one’s easy. Why don’t you help me get out of here, and I’ll see to it that the authorities view you as a pawn in Reed’s game. I’ll bet you could make a case for PTSD as a factor in all of this.”

  Before either of us could say anything more, the cape buffalo came charging out of the brush to the right of me. At the same time Reed emerged from where he had previously entered the wooded area. Hunter swung around and raised his rifle to shoot the buffalo, got off a shot that went wide. He spotted Reed to his right and yelled at him.

  “Shoot him,” shouted Hunter.

  Reed remained unmoving, and for a moment, I thought he was paralyzed with fear. Then I saw a smile etch his lips.

  “This will work,” he said. I don’t know if Hunter heard him, but Hunter shot again and again missed. The buffalo was on him in a second, butting him nearly across the clearing and sending him into the reeds. The beast moved toward him, and Hunter crawled into the water and behind the reeds at its edge. The last I saw of them, Hunter had his arm raised as if it would be sufficient to fend off the buffalo’s oncoming attack. I heard yells and the sounds of man and animal struggling, and then it was quiet once more. The buffalo did not reappear, nor did Hunter.

  “Shame, isn’t it?” Reed said. “Now it’s time for you to come down from there, Eve. Since the hunters couldn’t get to you, I think I’ll bring you to them. Unless, of course, you don’t want to see your friend, Mr. Napolitani, and say a few kind words before he dies.”

  What choice did I have? If I stayed up in the tree, Reed would simply shoot me. Going with him to Mr. Napolitani meant I had another chance to save Nappi and me. Maybe together we could deny Reed his kills. I climbed down, my one stiletto still in my hand. I glanced back at the other one, embedded in the mud.

  Reed marched me off to my death.

  Chapter 25

  Reed pushed and prodded me along the path leading back toward the shack. Sounds of firing could be heard, but they came from the other direction. I wondered if his other clients were killing pigs, buffalo, or humans. I couldn’t think about that now. I had Nappi to worry about.

  As we entered the clearing where the shack stood, I spotted Nappi decked out in hunting garb that looked as if it had been recently purchased from a men’s outdoor clothing catalogue. He was standing a few feet away from another man, also dressed in hunting paraphernalia, but his was camouflage wear—pants, shirt, and jacket like the ones I’d seen in the local sportsmen’s emporium. This man was shorter than Nappi, about the same age, with a swarthy complexion. Where Nappi’s outfit said “mob boss and gentleman,” his said “mob boss and ruthless killer.”

  A rifle lay on the ground near Nappi. The other man, who could be no one else other than the rival boss Fingers Bonti, held his gun leveled at Nappi.

  “Ah, good,” said Reed. “I see the two of you have come to an understanding.”

  Fingers flashed one of the ugliest smiles I’d ever seen on a human. I could detect neither fear nor anger at being betrayed on Nappi’s face.

  “And now, Mr. Napolitani, since Mr. Bonti has told you he is holding your family hostage and will kill them unless you do what we say, you will shoot Ms. Appel here. Consider it your fine
st hunting experience. Too bad you won’t get to talk about it to your friends.”

  Nappi didn’t blink, didn’t change the expression on his face, didn’t move. “I will not do that.”

  “Mr. Bonti, you can call on your cell now and tell your men to begin shooting Mr. Napolitani’s family, one by one, until he kills Ms. Appel.”

  Bonti raised the phone to his ear, said something, then slipped it back into his pocket. His smile widened.

  “It’s done, then?” asked Reed.

  “I don’t think my good friend would do that to me, would you, Fingers?” Nappi smiled.

  “You betrayed me?” Reed’s face turned purple with disbelief. In the time it took him to recover from his shock and shoulder his weapon to fire at Bonti, Nappi snatched his rifle from the ground, rolled into position and fired. Reed’s shot went wild and he dropped to the ground.

  “I could have done that just as well, you know,” said Fingers.

  “I know, but I wanted to show off for the lady.” Nappi shrugged and his smile grew. I rushed into his arms.

  “The two of you are friends?” I asked.

  “Always have been,” said Nappi.

  “Except for that one time years back, and we settled that by having his oldest daughter marry my son. We’re family.” Fingers’ smile seemed less malevolent now, more like that of a kindly father.

  “Is he dead, do you think?” I asked looking down at Reed.

  “No. I aimed for his shoulder, and I never miss,” said Nappi.

  “Well, he’s shot in the leg.” I pointed to the hole in his thigh and the thick stream of blood that poured from it.

  “I meant that I aimed for his leg then.” Nappi gave me another hug.

  I heard vehicles in the distance. “That might be the other hunters. What should we do?”

  Both Nappi and Fingers exchanged looks.

  “Not to worry, my dear. They’re all family members out for a little hunting experience—dove and quail, not people, buffalo, or pigs.” Nappi waved to the men in the SUVs as they pulled up near us.

  Reed groaned and held his leg. “I’m gonna die, bleed to death. I need to get to the hospital. Now.”

  “What do you think we should do with him, Eve?”

  “Leave him here. Either the pigs or the buffalo will get him.” I pointed skyward. “See those buzzards circling overhead? They’ll clean up the mess. When we come back tomorrow, there’ll be nothing left.”

  For a brief moment, I thought I saw fear in Reed’s black eyes.

  Much as I thought Reed should have been dinner for the buzzards, Frida—back on the job after informing her boss of the fire and who set it and turning over information on Warren’s change of identity to Hunter—took Reed into custody. She told me that deputies from the sheriff’s department found what was left of Hunter’s body at the far edge of the waterhole. Everyone at the scene was on high alert, having seen what a cape buffalo could do to a human, but the animal didn’t put in an appearance. Sabal Bay’s police chief tried to contact Sheriff Leopold when he called for back-up at the scene, but the sheriff was missing—home with the flu, according to his secretary. The undersheriff for the county directed the operation at the waterhole.

  Alex was allowed to pick me up from the shack, and I ran to him when I saw him get out of a police cruiser. It felt good to be in his arms, but I was worried.

  “What about Madeleine?” I asked. “Hunter said she was dead. Is she—”

  “She’s just fine now. She was in and out of consciousness, but aware just long enough to recognize who took you. Bad concussion, but there seems to be no permanent damage. Your airbag didn’t deploy when you were hit. That’s why she flew forward into the dash. Someone came upon the scene probably only minutes after Hunter and Reed took off with you. They called the EMTs. Early this morning Madeleine convinced the hospital to call Frida. She told them who hit the car and took you off.”

  “Well, I always knew she had a hard head.” My words were the usual plucky Eve stuff, but I was so relieved tears filled my eyes.

  “What about Elvira? Reed told me she called to have me carted off to the ranch.”

  “She’s in custody, has been since around six this morning, soon after Reed and Hunter took off to get you. Frida said she got a call from headquarters, and now Elvira is singing her head off. When she was picked up, she refused to tell Frida where they were holding you, so it took some time before we could find you. Sorry about that, babe. I wish you hadn’t gone through all this.” Alex squeezed me to him even harder. I almost thought my ribs would snap, but I didn’t want him to let go.

  “Let’s get out of here and let Frida sort out the mess,” he said.

  “I need to go back to the waterhole.”

  “You don’t want to see Hunter’s body. I wouldn’t recommend it. The deputies said it’s pretty grisly.”

  “No, no. I just need to pick up something.” I held up my lone shoe.

  “Not another shoe thing, Eve.” Alex sounded a bit annoyed, but resigned.

  The sun shone down out of a clear blue sky, salt spray hit my face, and I drew in the sweet smell of it as David’s boat flew down the waterway toward Nest Key. I tucked Grandfather’s amulet into the top of my bikini. I was taking no chances. Besides, I decided it went with every outfit I owned. I was the fashionista of the Florida swamps, wasn’t I, and I should know these things.

  Madeleine relaxed in the chair on the boat deck, an expression of pure joy on her face.

  “Not worried about sharks then, I guess.” I patted the amulet as I spoke.

  “Nope. After the past few weeks, don’t you think what walks on land seems more dangerous than anything in the water?” She raised her arms over her head as if to embrace the sky.

  “Frida did wonderful work on this one. I heard that Reed and Elvira tried to blame everything on Hunter, but after Sheriff Leopold was picked up at the West Palm airport boarding a flight with connections to South America, he was willing to rat them out. I guess there was a lot of finger pointing, especially when the gambling guys told their side of the story about kidnapping Bernard and Sammy for Reed and Leopold.” I sighed. “Have they found that cape buffalo yet?”

  Alex heard my question and left David in the cockpit to come back to join us.

  “Sammy tracked it down,” he said, “and it was turned over to a zoo. The authorities also found the source of Reed’s exotics, and arrested them for importing banned species.”

  “Here, take my chair.” Madeleine got up and went to stand at David’s side. She leaned her head against his chest and looked up at him.

  “Talk about love,” I said. They were a beautiful couple.

  “Yes. Let’s.” Alex’s tone was light, but underneath I knew he was serious.

  I reached out and pulled him down into the chair. “Not now. It’s too soon.”

  He nodded. “So are you going to try to put in a bid on Elvira’s shop?”

  “We can’t sell out of the rig forever, but it’s a new building and a lot of money. Elvira might consider a deal to pay for her defense. Reed’s ranch was mortgaged to the hilt, I understand, and they both will need megabucks for lawyers.”

  “I’ll bet you could get a loan easily.” Before his eyes could meet mine, he looked away toward the thick mangroves lining the shore. We both watched as a cormorant used the water as a runway, gathering enough speed to go airborne and flying off toward some distant mangrove island.

  “If you mean a loan from Nappi, I’m certain my partner would not allow that.”

  Madeleine heard me. “Your partner would not allow that. Much as I like Nappi, it’s still hard for me to want to do business with someone who earned his millions by doing stuff that’s illegal.”

  “I think we can approach the bank for a loan. We’ve been in business long enough and we’ve got the profits to show we know what we’re doing. And here’s an idea: we could operate both the rig and a store.”

  “Are you serious? Doesn’t that s
pread you a little thin in terms of personnel?” Alex asked.

  “We’ve got people who would work for us.”

  “Like who? Sammy’s thinking of turning the airboat business over to his nephew Eddie and taking over David’s hunting ranch, since David’s still determined to get out of the business.”

  David turned his head and said, “Sammy would be good at it too. We’re talking about it now.”

  “Sammy’s not the only member of the Egret family who’s entrepreneurial,” I said.

  Alex looked confused. “Who’s left with some selling experience?”

  “Grandfather. He loved working in the store before it burned down, and the ladies loved him. He’s a draw on his own. I’ll bet he’d be great.”

  Alex looked doubtful.

  “Don’t give me that look.”

  “He’s an old man,” Alex said.

  “Jerry could help him.”

  “Oh, God.” Alex hit himself in the forehead as if he thought hiring Jerry was the worst idea since my decision to marry the man.

  “Hey, we’re coming up on that old sailboat wreck. I’ve got to go below and grab something.” I ran past David and rushed down the steps, grabbed a bag, and then went back to the stern.

  I pulled a pair of stiletto heels out of the plastic bag. One was badly worn, leather split and scuffed, heel loose. The other shoe hardly looked like a shoe. The heel was gone and the rest of the shoe flattened and covered with dried muck, much of it buffalo spit.

  “My shoes from the waterhole. I loved these shoes.” I held them up and gazed at them, feeling sad. “I thought I’d give them a burial at sea.” I tossed the pair over just as we sped past the sailboat. The skinny, dirty man living onboard stood and watched us for a moment, then held his hand up, the middle finger pointing skyward.

  I returned his salute.

  * * *

  Lesley A. Diehl retired from her life as a professor of psychology and reclaimed her country roots by moving to a small cottage in the Butternut River Valley in upstate New York. In the winter she migrates to old Florida—cowboys, scrub palmetto, and open fields of grazing cattle—a place where spurs still jingle in the post office, and gators make golf a contact sport. Back north, the shy ghost inhabiting the cottage serves as her literary muse. When not writing, she gardens, cooks and renovates a 1874 cottage with the help of her husband, two cats and, of course, Fred the ghost, who gives artistic direction to their work.