Death, Limes and Videotape: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 7

by Summer Prescott

  “Okay, thanks,” she said finally, getting up from the table and placing her linen napkin on her chair.

  “Marilyn, can we talk?” Cort asked when she came to the door.

  “One of us has been trying to for a few days now,” her voice dripped with reproof.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I can explain. May I come in?”

  “Of course,” she replied coolly, opening the door wider and standing back so that he could pass.

  “Officially, I’m not here,” he began, receiving a suspicious and puzzled look from Marilyn. “What I mean is, I’m not supposed to be here, I’m not supposed to even talk to you,” he explained. “You’re a person of interest in a murder, and we’ve been dating. My superiors see that as a pretty dramatic conflict of interest. I’m not even authorized to be involved in the Chesterton investigation, but I’m doing everything I can on the side, because I know that you had nothing to do with the murder of that pseudo-celebrity. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but that kid wasn’t exactly well-liked, anyone could have killed him.”

  “Doesn’t that mean that finding his killer will be like looking for a needle in a hay stack,” Marilyn worried.

  “Possibly, but don’t worry, I’m on it,” he assured her. “Look, I may not be able to date you right now, but I’ve gotta tell you…the times that we’ve been together have made me happier than I’ve been in a very long time,” Cort looked at her intently, his blue eyes fathomless. “If you’ll just hang in there and wait until this whole mess blows over, I’ll take you sailing and anywhere else that you want to go. Just trust me for now, okay?” he asked, taking her hands in his.

  “Okay,” she said softly, nodding. “I’m sorry I was mean earlier,” she bit her lip.

  “Perfectly understandable,” he chuckled. “I’ve gotta run, but I’m glad I got to see you again,” he grinned, flashing those killer dimples.

  “Me too…even if you weren’t officially here,” Marilyn teased.

  “Exactly,” he said, his hand on the door knob. He opened the door, only to find Tim Eckels poised to knock, on the other side. The detective slipped by her neighbor, turning around briefly to give her a wink, and headed down the street to where he had parked.

  “Tiara,” Marilyn called back into the house. “You have a guest.”

  Chapter 17

  “Hi,” Tiara smiled, sitting down beside Tim Eckels on Marilyn’s front steps.

  “This is for you,” he replied, handing her a giant slice of Coconut Cream pie. “And this one is for your mom,” he said, forking over another plate with an equally gargantuan slice.”

  “Did you sneeze on it?” she teased, unable to help herself. Seeing Tim’s blank look, she quickly backpedaled. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that I thought you’d actually do anything like that. It’s just that my mom can be a bit of a bulldozer sometimes and the way she was when she showed up at your house was awful, so I was just making a lame joke,” she babbled, embarrassed.

  “I’m aware,” he looked at her steadily, still with no expression.

  Sobering, she looked him squarely in the eye. “Can I ask you something?” she said tentatively. She took his lack of response as a yes.

  “When you and I were talking, we just had this normal conversation, but it seems like every time you’re around my mom, you won’t say more than two words…why is that?” she asked.

  Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still staring at her.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend…” she started to apologize.

  “Because she’s so beautiful that she scares the heck out of me,” he said, blinking rapidly.

  Tiara was stunned, then a slow smile spread across her face and she giggled with delight. “Seriously?” she asked.

  “I can’t even think coherently around that woman,” he shook his head. “And I don’t think she likes me at all,” he said with the faintest tinge of sadness.

  “She just doesn’t know you,” the astonished young woman replied truthfully.

  “Maybe. I’ve just been disappointed by so many people that I suppose I’m a difficult person to get to know,” he admitted.

  “I’d say that there’s definitely something that makes you hide who you really are. I had no idea that you were this nice,” Tiara said.

  “There’s a word that hasn’t been used about me for a while,” he observed. “Crazy, creepy, weird, strange…those have all been used, but nice…no.”

  “Well, we’ll have to work on that then. I took a course on the importance of first impressions – I could give you some pointers,” she offered.

  “You’re very kind, but I believe I’m beyond help in that regard.”

  “Nah…I can work magic, you’ll see,” she promised with a smile.

  Tim smiled slightly in return, blatantly unconvinced, and changed the subject. “So you mentioned when you came over earlier that you wanted to know about what happened that night,” he made a face, as though the subject pained him. “What is it that you’d like to know?”

  “Well, I’m really embarrassed to admit it now, but…” she looked down at her hands, ashamed.

  “You thought that I came to your rescue and killed the young man?” he finished for her.

  “Yeah. Silly, huh?”

  “Perhaps,” was his nebulous response.

  “So, what did you see that night?” she asked.

  Tim stared into the distance, and began to speak, without turning his head to look at her. “I saw a young man who perhaps deserved to die, perhaps not. A man who was rocketing toward death even that very night. The brightest of stars always implode at some point, and while I’m certainly not placing the foul degenerate into that category, it was more than evident that his lifestyle would inevitably lead to his demise,” he said, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

  “I saw a lovely young woman with grand potential, tossed out like garbage and left to suffer in her own misery, and finally, I saw a man, who perhaps fancied himself a hero, stepping in to help the damsel in distress.”

  “Wait…it wasn’t you who helped me?” Tiara was shocked and confused.

  “No. I had moved to do so when I saw a man slipping out of the shadows to come to your aid. He picked you up effortlessly, carried you to the house, broke in and carried you inside. Then he left the way that he had come,” Tim explained.

  “Maybe Mom was right…maybe whoever helped me ended up killing Jace because of what he’d done,” her eyes grew wide.

  “Perhaps,” was the enigmatic reply.

  “I wonder who it was,” she frowned.

  “Fortunately, I have a photo. It’s not very good, but some features can be distinguished,” he said calmly.

  “What?? You have a picture? How?” she demanded. “I want to see it.”

  “You’re very much like your mother at times,” he observed dryly, after being peppered with questions and having demands made. “I have a night vision camera app on my phone, so I used it to take the photo, and the man in question didn’t suspect a thing.”

  “Can I see it…please?” she asked, more gently this time.

  Tim pulled out his cell phone, poked at it a couple of times, scrolled down and handed it to her. She peered at the fuzzy, green-lit photo, and enlarged the picture of the man bending down to pick her up. When she saw his face clearly, she screamed and dropped the phone.

  Chapter 18

  “Cort, I know that I’m not supposed to talk to you right now, but I’m really freaked out and I think I might know who murdered Jace Chesterton, so could you please call me back?” Marilyn whispered from her hiding spot in the bathroom, leaving the detective a voicemail, not knowing what else to do.

  “I can’t believe it,” Tiara said numbly, when her mother joined came out of the bathroom, her hands trembling as she wrapped them around her cup of decaf. “I can’t believe he’s here, and that he somehow may be involved in all of this,” she shivered, not from cold, but from the adrenalin that had been coursi
ng through her veins since she’d spoken with Tim.

  “Well, we actually can’t confirm that at all, so let’s not worry about what may or may have happened until we find out what actually did happen,” she advised, sitting down across from her daughter with her own cup of coffee and the huge slice of pie, courtesy of Tim Eckels.

  “Wow, he wasn’t kidding,” Marilyn said through a mouthful of pie. “Tim’s grandmother has an amazing Coconut Cream pie recipe,” she nodded appreciatively, paying attention to the sweet treat, rather than the crisis du jour.

  “I know, I thought the same thing,” Tiara murmured, going with the flow. “But, Mom, what are we going to do? Should we go to the police? I hate just sitting here, feeling helpless,” she frowned.

  “No, we definitely are not going to the police,” Marilyn replied firmly. “They’ll just think that I’m trying to shift the focus away from myself, which means they won’t believe us and won’t follow up, so it wouldn’t matter anyway. We’re just going to sit tight until we get this thing figured out,” she decreed.

  “Will you tell Detective Cortland?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Maybe. It’s different with him. He’s my…friend, so he might listen to our story and believe it rather than thinking that I’m just trying to pull something sketchy,” her mother replied, taking another bite of pie. “Here, help me with this,” she offered her plate to her daughter, who merely shook her head. “Okay, then I’m going to save the rest of it for breakfast,” she said, rising and opening the drawer that housed her supply of plastic wrap.

  “Let’s call it a night, honey. Get some sleep, and things will look better in the morning, okay?” she said after tucking her pie away in the fridge. She moved over to the breakfast bar and kissed her daughter on top of the head. “We’ll figure things out, sweetie, we always do. Good night,” she headed for the stairs.

  “Good night, Mom,” she mumbled, staring into her coffee cup, lost in thought.

  **

  As promised, Tiara felt somewhat better in the morning despite a nightmare-filled and fitful sleep. She headed to work with her mother after coffee, prepared to lose herself in the safe and sane world of sales figures and invoices. She was at the front counter, immersed in a spreadsheet on the main computer, when Detective Cortland came in, looking like he was in a hurry.

  “Good morning,” he said in a perfunctory manner. “Is your mother in?”

  “Yeah, she’s in her office, you can just go on back there. Turn left and it’s the door at the end of the hall,” she instructed, not motivated enough to leave her post and show him the way. He was a detective – presumably he was smart enough to figure out how to get to the business office, she reasoned.

  “Bernard,” Marilyn exclaimed, taking off her reading glasses and putting the document that she’d been reviewing down on the desk. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t stay long, and you’re going to need those,” he pointed to the glasses and took an Ipad out of his sport coat. He tapped the screen several times, then scrolled a bit and placed it in front of her, open to a video. Pressing the play button, he let her watch for a few minutes, then asked, “Recognize that guy?”

  Marilyn’s hands flew to her throat as her heart pounded within her chest. “Now what?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “Now, I find him and bring him in,” Cort replied grimly. “You okay?” She nodded, still stunned.

  “I really wish that we didn’t have to keep meeting under these types of circumstances, but seeing you definitely makes my day,” he smiled, despite his frustration, reaching out to touch her cheek.

  “Me too, Cort,” Marilyn replied. “Just catch him so that we can end this,” she pleaded.

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised, then turned and left.

  Chapter 19

  Daniel Hayes surveyed the supplies that he’d stashed in the foreclosed little shack. Someone had died in here…he could smell it, which was perhaps why no one had thought to empty the pitiful little ranch house’s contents or fix it up to sell. That worked out just fine for him. He had a safe haven where he could sleep, eat and plot his next move without fear of discovery. The nasty business with Captain Bob killing his business partner had left a bad taste in his mouth, and made him concerned about his daughter, Tiara’s safety. Bob may be rotting in jail, but Daniel knew all too well that the man had contacts on the outside who would do anything for a price. He’d done a quick fade during the murder investigation, knowing that no one would suspect that he had stayed on the island.

  The only part about his current existence that really bothered him is that he knew his daughter had to be thinking that he’d either abandoned her, or had been killed by the evil bastard who had snuffed his business partner. Enough time had passed that he almost felt confident about his daughter’s safety, but he wanted to wait a bit longer before revealing himself, just to be sure.

  The concerned father had hated seeing his precious girl in the company of the insufferable Jace Chesterton, and had to fight tears when he saw the shame that the little peacock brought upon his only child. The night in the RV had been the last straw. To see his beautiful, beloved daughter tossed out and abandoned like a bag of trash had enraged him in a way he hadn’t realized was possible. But he’d taken care of his baby girl, and then he’d taken care of the smarmy hipster who never knew what hit him. Now he just needed to lay low for a bit longer to make sure that Tiara was safe, then he’d say his goodbyes and head even further south, where some potentially dangerous but lucrative job opportunities awaited him.

  Daniel put his pack under his head and drifted off to sleep, ignoring the roaches that occasionally skittered across his hands in the darkness. He woke to the sound of a bullhorn advising him to come out with his hands up, and blue and red lights flashing dizzily in the dirty windows of the decrepit house.

  **

  Detective Donald Ferguson sat across the table from Daniel Hayes, determined to pull a confession from the unkempt drifter, who seemingly murdered an international minor celebrity in his town. Bernard Cortland watched from behind the glass, wishing he could be in the room, conducting the interrogation. He would be satisfied that the case was closed and all was well, if the evidence backed up the theory that Daniel was the killer, but, despite the seeming likelihood of that scenario, something just wasn’t ringing true.

  “Where were you around 11:00 at night this past Friday, Mr. Hayes?” Ferguson asked, sounding somewhat amiable.

  “I have no idea,” Daniel shrugged, looking him dead in the eye. “Probably out drinking somewhere.”

  “Can you explain what you were doing in a convenience store at the beach shortly after that time?” he persisted.

  “I don’t know…buying chips or something?” he yawned, acting bored by the entire process.

  “The clerk recalls that you came in smelling of vomit and basically bathed yourself in the bathroom sink. Is that ringing any bells for you at all?” Ferguson drilled Daniel with a glare, tired of his insolent manner.

  “It’s possible.”

  “And how did you get vomit on your clothing, Mr. Hayes?”

  “Told you, probably been out drinking. Makes sense, right?”

  “Did you see your daughter before you went to the convenience store?” Ferguson went for the jugular, too soon in Bernard’s opinion as he stood behind the glass, watching the exchange.

  “You just leave my daughter out of this nonsense,” Daniel growled. “She’s as pure as the driven snow and I intend to do everything I can to keep her that way.”

  “Did you see your daughter or not on that night?” Ferguson pressed, peering over his glasses.

  “Can’t remember. Too drunk,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Perhaps this will jog your memory,” he tossed an enhanced print-out of Tim Eckels’ photo of Tiara being carried by her father across the lawn. Again, too soon, by Bernard’s analysis.

  A vein throbbed in the middle of Danie
l’s forehead, the only outward sign of his growing anger. He said nothing, as though the photo didn’t exist.

  “Notice the time and date stamp…right there in the corner,” Ferguson stabbed a stubby finger at the photo. “That would be you,” he pointed to the male figure in the photo. “And that would be your daughter,” he indicated the very sick-looking female passed out in her father’s arms. “Want to rethink your story?”

  Bernard Cortland, watching the whole exchange from behind the glass, shook his head in frustration at the seeming lack of his coworker’s basic interrogation skills. He still had a feeling that somehow, something wasn’t right. Daniel Hayes may be a cool cucumber and a skilled liar, but he certainly wasn’t behaving like a man who was guilty of murder. Glad that he’d downloaded the file concerning the murder, he headed for his car, determined to find out who killed Jace Chesterton, and why.

  Chapter 20

  Detective Bernard Cortland arrived at the Gas N Go Mini Mart within a matter of minutes, and saw a young man with dark curly hair behind the front counter.

  “Myron Giles?” he asked the youth, who was slumped in a cracked, mustard yellow vinyl chair, clearly not planning on much traffic during his shift.

  “Who wants to know?” the young man drawled, barely taking his eyes from his Iphone.

  Cort flashed his badge under the clerk’s nose, receiving a much more cooperative response.

  “Yep, I’m Myron,” he said, standing up and reflexively smoothing his stained red work smock. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

  “Do you remember this guy?” Bernard showed him a photo of Daniel.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s the dude who came in and stunk so bad that I had to open up one of the air fresheners after he left. Washed up in the bathroom,” he explained.

  “Do you have the security video?”

  “Well, yeah, but…don’t you need like a warrant or something like that?” the youth asked nervously.