Dead Silent (A Jettine Jorgensen Mystery, Book 1)

by S. L. Menear

  I peered into his tired brown eyes. “Why are you here in the middle of the night? This isn’t a detective’s call.”

  “I was at the office late, working on the murder case, when the intruder report came in. I thought maybe it would lead to a break in the case, so I took the call.”

  Gwen patted his back. “Thanks for coming, Mike.”

  We circled the house, following the tiled terrace that wrapped around the north wing, bordering the ballroom and swimming pool. “Has the crime scene been released yet?” I glanced at my front door on the way to his car.

  “Yes, the tape has been removed, and the guestroom floor was professionally cleaned. You’re free to go home whenever you want. Don’t forget to alert the security company.”

  Before I climbed into the unmarked police car, I waved at the security guard who had followed us. “Good job. And just so you know, I’ll be living here starting tomorrow. Good night.”

  When Mike dropped us off, we were too wired to sleep, so we settled on comfy chairs in Gwen’s living room and sipped wine.

  “Mike didn’t believe my story, and I wish he didn’t act so cold toward me.”

  “Act is the key word,” Gwen said, her tone guarded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I should’ve told you sooner, but the time never seemed right, and I didn’t want to reopen the wound after you’d healed.” She took a sip of wine. “Four months after you went in the Navy, Mike took me out for a drink to celebrate my new job with the Palm Beach Police. He’d been hired two months earlier with the Banyan Isle Police. We ended up having a lot of wine and a long, serious chat.”

  “What did you talk about?” I worried it had been about me.

  “We discovered we were both drawn to law enforcement careers because we had lost family members to unsolved murders and wanted justice for ourselves and others.”

  “Right, I remember his younger brother Matt was our age when he was found murdered at our prep school. He was only sixteen, and the killer was never caught.”

  Gwen frowned. “That was twelve years ago, but it seems like yesterday.”

  “Are you saying your long conversation was strictly work-related?”

  “It started that way, but then he told me how he’d blown it with you. He admitted you’d told him all along you intended to join the Navy and serve your country.” She bit her lower lip.

  “I don’t understand. Did he say why he shut me out?”

  “He was big-time in love with you, and your relationship was going well, so he assumed you’d changed your mind. He even bought an engagement ring, but before he had a chance to propose, you left for the Navy and crushed him.”

  I gulped the wine. “Why didn’t he tell me any of this?”

  “He felt hurt, betrayed, and abandoned. A typical alpha male, he didn’t want to show any weakness. By the time he admitted to himself his bad reaction wasn’t your fault, you’d stopped trying to contact him. He assumed it was too late and you had moved on. He asked me not to tell you. Sorry.”

  I felt sick. “Well then, why did he miss my parents’ funerals two years ago?”

  “He was in D.C. attending a criminal investigations class taught by the FBI. He didn’t find out about them until it was too late to get there. He felt really bad about missing the services and appearing not to care. He probably assumed that was the final nail in your relationship’s coffin.”

  I emptied my wine glass. “I’m here now, so why is he still so cold toward me?”

  “I’m guessing it’s because you’re only here for a month, and he doesn’t want to get hurt again when you return to the Navy.” She drained her glass. “Why did you join, anyway? You could’ve been an executive at Jorgensen Industries.”

  “I’ve never had Father’s passion for business, and I don’t have Mother’s spiritual and healing abilities. I wanted to do something that would make a difference, protect people. You and I were never cut out to live like spoiled socialites.”

  “You got that right. Have you decided to re-enlist?”

  “I’ve been so distracted by the mayor’s murder and my disturbing dreams I haven’t thought about the Navy at all.” I sighed. “And now I’m not sure what to think about Mike.”

  “A more important question is how do you feel about Mike?”

  “Crap, I don’t know. I thought he hated me.” I stood. “I can’t think about this right now. Let’s go back to bed.”

  Seven

  After finishing breakfast, I re-packed my bag, and Gwen dropped me off on her way to work. That might’ve seemed like an unnecessary gesture, but the estates didn’t have side access to each other for security reasons. Each driveway was the length of a football field, and the entry gates were separated by more than twice that distance. That would’ve been a long trek pulling a wheeled suitcase.

  I used my key, opened the heavy door, punched in the code, and walked past the twin stairways and winged-Valkyrie statues. The house seemed eerily quiet.

  I hit the number-four button and took the elevator to the top floor. Turning right, I pulled my bag down the long hallway in the south wing, which was on the opposite side of the house from the murder. The twelve-foot walls paneled in golden teak held paintings of Nordic landscapes and Viking battle scenes.

  My bedroom suite occupied the south end. Narrow spiral stairs in both corners led up to turret rooms guarding the castle. My south balcony faced the lower north balcony in Gwen’s third-floor bedroom next door, but it was too far away to see her without binoculars.

  When we were children, we played spies and sent each other messages in Morse code using light signals. We had fun and learned a skill seldom used in the modern age. Ironically, I ended up putting that knowledge to good use on four occasions during my service in Navy Intelligence. Good thing I was blessed with an eidetic memory like my father.

  I took a moment and sprawled across my king-size, four-poster bed. The rose satin bedspread felt cool against my skin, and the thought of sleeping in a familiar bed again comforted me. After unpacking, I drew open the heavy rose draperies and stood on my east balcony, staring out at the Atlantic Ocean sparkling under the bright morning sun.

  My first order of business would be getting the door locks and codes changed and then hiring a new cleaning service after I ran them through the same intense scrutiny I’d employ for a suspected enemy operative. No more betrayals by dishonest maids.

  Until I figured out what was causing my dreams and sleepwalking, I didn’t want to hire any live-in staff who might react badly to my nocturnal antics. Was my mother’s spirit trying to help me solve Mayor Peabody’s murder?

  After completing my to-do list, I needed to restock the refrigerator and pantry. I grabbed the keys to Mom’s SUV and drove to Giorgio’s Gourmet Market near the north end of Main Street on the island. The extra-wide street accommodated huge Banyan trees that lined broad sidewalks and provided a thick canopy shading the thoroughfare from the blazing sun. I pulled into Giorgio’s small parking lot.

  I grabbed a big cart and filled it with my favorite foods. After I finished shopping, I loaded the bags into the SUV and drove down the street to the Upper Crust Bakery. A few comfort snacks would be good to have on hand to ease the trauma from disturbing dreams. That was my excuse anyway. I bought chocolate brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and chocolate biscotti sticks. I assumed Gwen would eat half of everything, and I’d burn off the calories swimming laps in my pool.

  As I exited the bakery, I bumped into Pierce. “Hey, thanks again for lunch yesterday. I’m back at my house now.”

  He smiled. “Good. I hope the security company provided an armed guard.”

  “They did. Are you here for a caffeine and sugar fix?”

  “Just caffeine. They have the best cappuccino in town. Join me for a cup?”

  “Sure, and I have goodies if you change your mind about something sweet.” I held up the bags. “I’ll grab an outside table.”

  We sat at a tree-s
haded sidewalk table and sipped our beverages.

  I opened the bags. “Would you like a chocolate chip cookie, fudge brownie, or a chocolate biscotti stick?”

  “Knowing my luck, I won’t get time for lunch, so how about a brownie?”

  “My pleasure.” I set it on his napkin and stuck a biscotti stick into my cappuccino.

  Pierce savored a bite of the brownie. “How’s the Navy treating you?”

  “Navy Intelligence has been interesting work, but after six years I might be ready for a change.” I gazed into his sexy eyes. “How do you like being a lawyer?”

  “I enjoy my job, but I have political aspirations.”

  “What office are you shooting for?”

  “I’m already a county commissioner.” He lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Next step is the State House, then governor of Florida, U.S. senator, and maybe president one day.”

  “Wow, Pierce, I’m impressed.” I bit off the end of the biscotti stick. “I like an ambitious man with a solid plan. With your family’s connections, you’re bound to go far.”

  His cell pinged with a text message, and he frowned. “I’m needed at the courthouse, but I was hoping to get an update from you on what’s happening with the mayor’s murder. Any chance we can continue this conversation over dinner tonight at the Banyan Harbor Inn?”

  “Thanks, but I just went through a rough breakup. I’m not ready to date.”

  “No pressure, just a friendly dinner.” He held up his hand. “Scout’s honor. Pick you up at seven?”

  “Okay, as long as we’re just friends.” Is this a good idea?

  He stood. “Good, I’ll see you tonight.” He dropped his paper cup in the trash bin and whistled the tune for “You Give Love a Bad Name” as he strolled down the street to his red vintage Corvette.

  I deposited the baked goods in my car and then entered the LBD Boutique next door. I needed a little black dress for dinner at the elegant restaurant. The store had a wide selection of cocktail dresses, and it had been several years since I had bought any new clothes. Three dresses fit me perfectly, enhancing my modest curves. I found matching stilettos and handbags for each dress: one black, one red, and a light-blue one. Retail therapy.

  The Banyan Harbor Inn sprawled across the southern end of the island midway from east to west and included a yacht harbor with boats and jet-ski rentals, a long, four-story hotel with two swimming pools, tennis courts, and an elegant waterfront restaurant and bar. We sat at a table overlooking the ocean inlet between Banyan Isle and Singer Island.

  Pierce admired my sleeveless black cocktail dress. “You look beautiful in that outfit, Jett.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. It’s nice to wear a pretty dress after wearing a uniform for so long.”

  He perused the wine list. “How about a bottle of Pessimist from the Paso Robles Vineyard? It’s my favorite blended red.”

  “Yes, please. I’m craving red meat. I could never get a good steak in Afghanistan.” I surveyed the menu. “Ooh, I love Béarnaise sauce.”

  He signaled the waiter and ordered a bottle of wine and Châteaubriand Béarnaise for two. “Afghanistan sounds like a miserable place.”

  “It is, but the Taliban keeps us busy. It’s a never-ending struggle.”

  “It’s like the story of Sisyphus forever rolling that boulder up the hill.” He shook his head. “A no-win situation.”

  “That constant frustration is one reason I’m thinking of leaving the Navy.” After the waiter poured wine into my glass, I swirled it and took a sip.

  Pierce tasted his wine. “Are you planning to live here again?”

  “The trust my great grandfather created to maintain Valhalla requires a Jorgensen family member to live there.” I swirled my wine. “After my parents died, I used some of my inheritance to fund a local shelter for battered women. I’d like to expand the charity to include college scholarships with free room and board for the women to attend nearby colleges.”

  “Good idea, Jett. You’d help a lot of women get a fresh start and improve their lives.”

  “I’d like to hold a charity ball at Valhalla to raise funds for the scholarships. It’s just that there’s something I need to resolve at home first.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “The mayor’s murder?”

  “I’ll help the police if I can, but I have a personal matter to deal with.”

  He reached out and patted my hand. “I’m here for you if you need me.”

  The server arrived with our dinners.

  “This looks delicious.” I took a deep drink of the red elixir and sliced into a piece of meat as tender as butter.

  He lifted a silver sauce boat. “Béarnaise?”

  “Yes, please, pour a little on everything.”

  “Any new gossip on the murder case?” He finished serving the sauce.

  “They have seven possible suspects now.” I left out their names, but the local paper had printed everything in a front-page story in the evening edition. Secrets didn’t last long on Banyan Isle.

  Eight

  We were down to the last few bites of steak when I scanned the people occupying the many tables on either side of us and on the levels that covered two graduated tiers above us.

  I recognized Manny and Dolores Delgado from pictures on the front page of the Banyan Isle Bugle. Pictures of the mayor’s wife, Marjorie, Andy and Brenda Carrigan, and John and Victoria Master also had been included in the story circulated early this evening.

  A broad guy with no neck at a table behind the couple seemed a little too interested in Manny and Dolores as they appeared to be having a heated discussion. A skinny guy in a Tommy Bahama shirt and tan slacks two tables away from us seemed to be watching them too.

  As I dawdled over my wine, I scanned the other tables. Brenda and Andy Carrigan were seated one tier above the Delgados at the opposite end. A guy in a cheap sport coat sitting alone watched them. Had Mike put the couples under surveillance? I whispered, “Pierce, look who’s here.” I nodded in the direction of the Delgados and then the Carrigans.

  “Interesting, and did you notice the men watching them?”

  “The observers don’t look like cops, especially the guy with no neck. He looks like a mobster.” I grinned. “Let’s see what happens.”

  We had just started our second glasses of wine when Dolores got up and headed for the bathrooms in the front of the restaurant near the entrance.

  “Look, No Neck and Tommy Bahama followed her.” Pierce pointed.

  I peered left and spotted Andy heading for the restrooms followed by the sport-coat guy. “This just became even more interesting. I’ll go to the ladies’ room while you keep an eye on Manny and Brenda.”

  When I entered the restroom, Dolores wasn’t there. I refreshed my lipstick and turned in the opposite direction when I exited. No Neck and Tommy Bahama waited outside on a bench between two indoor palm trees while the sport-coat guy paced nearby.

  An intimate alcove decorated with tropical plants bordered the hallway twenty feet past the restrooms. I peeked inside as I strolled by and spotted Andy in a steamy lip-lock with Dolores. I pulled out my cell and snapped a picture.

  The hulk with no neck sat staring at his cell phone. The other two observers ignored each other and pretended to make calls. None of them noticed me taking their pictures.

  I returned to our table, and Pierce pointed at Brenda and Manny sharing an intimate chat down near the docks where they smoked cigarettes in the designated area. I snapped their pictures too. Marital intrigue galore.

  Brenda checked her watch and scurried back to her table. I wondered what would happen next when someone eased close behind me.

  “Hello, Pierce, mind if I have a word with Miss Jorgensen?”

  “I’m not leaving, but you’re welcome to join us.” Pierce pulled out a chair and introduced Andy Carrigan.

  Andy smiled and sat beside me. “Jett, would you be willing to testify at my divorce hearing? I just want you to tell the truth about
finding Brenda with the mayor.”

  Pierce answered for me. “Jett doesn’t need to testify because the police report states she found your wife with Mayor Peabody’s dead body. That fact is not in question.”

  “Well, okay then. Have a good evening.” Andy returned to his table.

  “Thanks, Pierce. Let’s finish the wine and enjoy the spy-versus-spy cheating spouses show.” I took a sip.

  He grinned. “I’d bet a case of Pessimist wine two of the spies are private investigators. Not sure what to think about the big guy. Probably works for one of Manny’s silent partners.”

  “I guess the women are trying to get dirt on their husbands before the divorces.” I laughed. “Looks like the cheating wives have cheating husbands who are cross-pollinating their marital beds.”

  “This is way more complicated than I originally thought. Think Victoria Master’s husband is involved with one of the other wives too?”

  “And maybe Victoria is playing around with Manny or Andy or another married guy we don’t even know about.” I chuckled. “This is juicy stuff. Navy Intelligence isn’t nearly this fun.”

  “You could leave the Navy and become a P.I.,” he joked. “Later, you’ll have plenty of material to become a best-selling author. Just change the names to avoid lawsuits.”

  “Who knew Banyan Isle could provide so many alternatives to the Navy?”

  “Too bad you aren’t ready to date. With your Cherokee heritage, you and I would make the ideal political power couple.”

  “I guess my ethnic diversity would look good to the voting public.” I grinned. “I could end up in the White House as your first lady, but if I had to put up with the media nightmare that goes with it, I’d rather be the one in the oval office.”

  “No harm in thinking about it.” He sipped his wine. “Hey, I’m going out to your uncle’s place tomorrow to fly my L-39 fighter jet. I keep it in his hangar. Want to come?”

  “I’ve got some interviews scheduled in the morning‍‍—I’m looking for a new maid service, but my afternoon is free.”