by S. L. Menear
The Breakers was a picture of Old-World elegance with thirty-foot coffered ceilings adorned in unique artistic designs. Her heels clacked on the polished marble corridor as she walked south through the lobby and turned east into the hall leading to The Seafood Bar.
Her aunt and uncle sat with Jett at a table overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The tall windows were so close to the water that the view was similar to dining on a cruise ship.
“Auntie Liz and Uncle Clive, it’s good to see you. Hey, Jett. Love your blue dress.” Gwen leaned over and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late.” When her uncle rose to pull out her chair, she hugged him. “How long will you two be in Palm Beach?”
Liz smoothed her elegantly coiffed white hair. “Just January for the high season, my dear Gwen. I do hope we’ll see you often. Is your new job keeping you busy?”
“It was a slow day until a wealthy Palm Beacher died at the polo match. Did you know Denton Donley?”
The waiter poured Gwen a glass of Opus One, her favorite blended red wine, and presented the menu. She smiled, always enjoying visits with the Duke and Duchess of Colchester.
“We had drinks in his tent earlier this afternoon.” Clive glanced at Liz. “We left the match early so we would have plenty of time to relax and dress for dinner. He seemed fine when we left.”
Clive’s answer surprised Gwen. “Did you know him well?”
“Not really. We heard he was quite the womanizer,” Liz said. “You know the type. I wasn’t fond of him, but we fulfilled our social obligation to the charity organizers. I heard he was accused of raping several women and escaped prosecution.”
Jett said, “Whoa, Gwen, did you get a murder case on your first day as a detective?”
“I doubt it. He probably had an undiagnosed heart defect. Divine justice.” She sipped the wine, savoring the delicious blend from the Rothschild and Mondavi vineyards. “According to Google, the women who accused him last year were merely the tip of the iceberg in his alleged rape history. He should’ve spent the rest of his life behind bars. Our legal system failed. At least he can’t hurt anyone else now.”
Her uncle swirled Glenglassaugh whisky in his glass. “Could someone seeking justice have caused his demise?”
“I suppose it’s possible.” Gwen pursed her lips. “There was no obvious cause of death.”
“Considering his alleged crimes, you shouldn’t rule out the possibility someone killed him.” He downed his Scotch. “We want you to do well in your new position.”
“Thanks, Uncle Clive.” She nudged Jett. “I ran into Pierce at the polo match. He looked dapper in a linen suit.”
Liz asked Gwen, “Pierce who? Are you dating him?”
“Pierce Lockwood, and Jett’s dating him.”
Jett shook her head. “Not true. We’re just friends.”
“Jett, darling, men are never just friends with beautiful young women.” Liz patted Gwen’s hand. “And what about you, dear? You look fit and fabulous in your little black dress. Anyone on your dance card?”
“Thanks, Aunt Liz, but no. I have my eye on a handsome coworker, but he hasn’t shown any interest.” She couldn’t help thinking she’d never look good in a bikini again with her ugly scar front and center, courtesy of her parents’ killer.
Liz studied her face. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, I was thinking about my scar.” Gwen took a soothing sip of wine and changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to our opera night at the Kravis Center on Tuesday. Carmen, isn’t it?”
Liz smiled warmly. “Yes, dear, we have fifth-row orchestra seats.” She patted Jett’s hand. “Jett’s been telling us about the murder you two discovered at her home. How dreadful. Any leads?”
“Not yet, but stay tuned.” Gwen lifted her glass.
“I think you two need some fun,” Liz said. “Plan to meet us thirty minutes before the curtain for cocktails.”
Jett said, “Thanks, and if you visit Gwen in Banyan Isle, please stop by Valhalla and meet my fur babies and their new nanny. The puppies are half-wolf, and their nanny is the daughter of a famous Mafia Don.”
Clive arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s safe to have a Mafia woman in your home?”
“I’m positive. Sophia has a heart of gold, but there have been some recent developments I haven’t had a chance to share with Gwen.” She glanced sideways at her best friend. “Is it okay if I tell them everything?”
“You mean about your sleepwalking?” She laughed. “Have you forgotten they live in an eight-hundred-year-old castle? Nothing shocks them. Go ahead and spill.”
Jett brought Liz and Clive up to date, including all the new happenings when Hunter came to visit. She ended with, “It’s a good thing the opera is Tuesday night because I’m leaving with Hunter and two divers on Wednesday. We’re going to dive on the crash site near Freeport.”
“My goodness, you do lead an exciting life. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.” Clive patted Jett’s hand.
“And you girls stay safe with possible murderers sneaking around Banyan Isle,” Liz said.
Gwen and Jett bid goodbye to Liz and Clive and returned to their homes.
Gwen checked her messages. Donley’s family physician reported he’d been in perfect health.
She went to bed in her queen-size canopy bed and slipped into her recurring nightmare of the deadly carjacking.
Fifteen
JETT
At 3:14 Monday morning, the puppies woke me. At first, I assumed they needed a trip outside, but instead, they stared at the closed bedroom door and growled softly, warning me. Typical of wolves, they didn’t bark, intending to hunt and corner the intruder. I slipped on a robe and grabbed my handgun and a mini flashlight. My eyes were accustomed to the dark, so I put the little flashlight in my robe pocket. I didn’t want to alert an intruder to my presence.
When I eased the bedroom door open, the dogs crept into the hallway all the way past the elevator. They slowly descended the stairs to the second floor, turned into the hallway, and stopped short of the north hall with their heads cocked, listening and sniffing.
The threat of imminent danger heightened my senses as muffled sounds drifted down the dark hallway. I hid behind a sturdy statue of a Viking chieftain, standing midway between the twin staircases, and strained to identify the source of the soft noises.
Peeking around the statue, I didn’t see anyone. The door to the murder room had been kept closed, but now it was open. I crept closer, and the dogs took a protective stance in front of me.
Sophia yelled, “Freeze, dirtbag!” followed almost instantly by a loud gunshot.
I racked the slide on my pistol and ran forward, yelling, “Sophia? Where are you?”
“Don’t shoot!” She stepped into the hall, wearing night-vision goggles and her PJs. She pointed. “He’s in there. Dead.”
“Grab the puppies and keep them away.” I switched on the bedroom light.
Dressed in a guard uniform from Elite Security, a man lay on the floor, a pool of blood haloing his head. A bullet had pierced his forehead, and a black bandanna covered his face under his eyes. A handgun with a silencer attached lay close to his gloved right hand. The oil painting above the dresser had been placed face-down on the bed.
I turned back to Sophia. “What happened?”
She had removed her goggles and was crouched, clutching the dogs’ collars. “I’m a light sleeper. I heard noises in the room next door, so I pulled on my night-vision gear and grabbed my Glock. He was putting the painting on the bed when I peeked in. I yelled, he drew on me, and I blew him away.” She held out her pistol with the red laser. “I never miss with this laser sight. Is he the killer Hunter warned me about?”
“Probably.” I backed out and closed the door. “Night-vision goggles?”
“What? I can’t sleep with a light on. I keep the goggles on the nightstand so I can find my way to the toilet in the middle of the night.” She hel
d them up. “Army surplus.”
Despite the grave situation, I smiled at the tiny woman wearing flannel PJs. “I’ll go call the police. I have a bad feeling there’s a dead guard somewhere on my property.”
Sophia reached in her pajama pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Use mine.”
“Thanks.” Instead of dialing the emergency number, I called Mike’s cell.
He answered on the fourth ring. “Who is this?”
“Mike, it’s Jett. I’m calling on my dog nanny’s phone. I need you to come right away and call in a CSU and the medical examiner. There’s a dead body in the room where the mayor was murdered, and I’m afraid you may find another body on the grounds. Please hurry.”
“Grab a weapon, get somewhere safe with the nanny and your dogs, and I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hung up.
I handed her the phone. “Lock yourself in your room with the dogs. I need to let the cops in.” I ran up to my room, grabbed my cell, and rushed downstairs. I arrived just in time to open the door for Mike.
He pulled me against him, hugged me, and asked, “Are you hurt?”
I felt a surge of warmth, reminding me of what we had shared long ago. “I’m all right, and the nanny is locked inside her room with the puppies. The DB is in the room where the mayor was killed. It’s next door to hers. I think the intruder stole the guard’s uniform. I noticed the pants are too short and the uniform is tight.”
He sucked in his breath and searched my eyes. “Did you shoot him?”
“No, the nanny shot him when he drew on her.” I noted his frown. “Sophia has a license to carry, and the dead guy had a SIG with a silencer attached.”
He released me and opened the door to the sound of approaching sirens. Soon there were cops searching my home and grounds.
My cell rang.
It was Gwen. “What’s going on over there?”
I explained what happened. “Don’t worry. Mike and a bunch of cops are here. Get some sleep and I’ll call you at work later with some answers.”
The medical examiner arrived several minutes before the CSU van, and Mike led him upstairs to the body.
I waited in Sophia’s suite with her and the puppies and squeezed her hand. “Are you feeling okay after that traumatic event?”
“I’m good. The guy I shot, not so much. Have the police identified him?”
“I don’t know. I guess Mike will tell us once he has everything handled out there.”
“And who is Mike to you?” She studied my face. “I sensed you share a bond with him.”
“He was my boyfriend until I joined the Navy. Since then, he hasn’t spoken to me until a few days ago when we needed to discuss the mayor’s murder.”
“How do you feel about him?” She patted my hand.
“I’m not sure. I feel a strong attraction to him, but the tension between us twists my stomach into a knot.” I chewed my lip. “I’m afraid he’ll hurt me again.”
“I saw him when he escorted you in here. Very handsome.” She tilted her head. “Not quite on the same level as your uncle, but then few are.”
I grinned. “Women do tend to swoon over Hunter.”
“I sure did. He’s quite the manly man.” She sighed. “Ah, if only I were younger.”
An hour went by before Mike knocked on the door. I opened it, and he walked in. “Are you two okay?”
“Yes, but we’re eager to know what’s going on. Any news?” I asked.
“We found marks in the sand where a body had been dragged into an inflatable boat. Probably dumped him in the ocean. The boat is pulled up on the beach now, and a man’s jeans and shirt are in it.”
“Have you identified the guy Sophia shot?” I asked.
“I sent the intruder’s picture to Elite Security. His name’s Mark Morgan. He doesn’t work for them anymore, but he was the one who originally set up their video surveillance system.”
“Do you know who the missing guard is?” Sophia asked.
“We’re waiting until his kids leave for school to notify his wife.” He pulled out a large plastic evidence bag and reached for Sophia’s weapon. “I’ll need your full name for my records, and we’ll have to run this weapon through a ballistics check. Standard procedure.”
“And leave me unprotected? I don’t think so.” She held the pistol close to her.
I leaned in and whispered, “I’ll give you another one as soon as he leaves.”
She held out the weapon, barrel down. “All right, but I want this back. My name is Sophia DeLuca, maiden name Calabrese, originally from Brooklyn, and yes, that Calabrese family, so get over it already.”
Mike’s jaw dropped, and he stared at the tiny woman, not even five feet. “Do you have a police record?”
“I’m clean, the gun is registered to me, and I have a license to carry. Did you think Jett would hire a criminal to take care of her precious fur babies? You should know better.”
“Sorry, Mrs. DeLuca, but I had to ask. I’m just following procedure.” He glanced at me. “I wish I could say for certain Mark Morgan is responsible for all the murders, as well as tampering with your video feed and installing the spy camera.”
“Looks to me like he was covering his tracks to avoid charges for blackmail and accessory-to-murder for the mayor. He must not have known the police already had the hidden camera and recorder.” I shook my head. “Now, we’ll never know for sure if he killed the maid and Sims.”
Mike sealed the bag holding Sophia’s gun. “Chances are he’s our guy for the breach in security and the possible blackmail. The mayor probably hired Sims to rig the security feed, but he might not have known Morgan’s identity. The guy was a pro. Probably never met with the mayor in person. He might not be the maid’s killer, but he had a motive for taking her out if she’s the one who gave him the key and the code. And he was probably working with Sims, blackmailing clients.”
“I’m guessing Morgan hacked my system under orders from Sims,” I said. “But I don’t think either of them killed the mayor, because then their opportunity to collect more blackmail money would’ve ended. Morgan killed Sims and the maid to hide his identity.”
“It’s possible he intended to kill you too, Jett.” Mike gave me a worried look.
“Good thing he didn’t know about me.” Sophia grinned. “Poison is a woman’s weapon of choice. My guess is the mayor was killed by a jealous lover, and Morgan staged the other murders to look like the same killer did them all.”
Mike frowned. “We have four suspects in the lover category but no definitive evidence.”
I checked my watch. “It’s almost five. I’d like to get to sleep before the sun comes up. Sorry about another late night, Mike. I’ll let you out and lock up after you.”
“Good night, Mrs. DeLuca.” He petted the puppies and followed me to the front door.
Sixteen
GWEN
While Jett tried to catch up on some sleep, Gwen spent Monday morning researching Denton Donley. That afternoon, she interviewed six rape victims and their parents. They all had alibis.
Gwen stopped by the M.E.’s office. The scent of disinfectant permeated the air.
“Donley’s death seemed natural until the autopsy changed everything.” The M.E. checked his report. “Enough sedative was found in his body to drop him into a deep sleep, and a tiny puncture wound was discovered over the right carotid artery. No poison. No toxic residue at the puncture site.”
Another mystery, Gwen thought. “Thank you, Doc. Call me if you discover the COD.”
When she arrived home, she called Jett. “I’m dying to know what happened last night at your house.”
Jett yawned into the phone. “Sorry, I didn’t get enough sleep.” She gave a recap of the early morning events.
“Your sixty-year-old dog nanny shot the intruder? I’ve got to meet her.”
“Better come now. We just had an early dinner, and I don’t think we’ll last much longer before we dive into our beds.”
“I’ll be right there.” Gwen hung up and drove next door.
Jett answered the door and handed her a glass of chardonnay. “How’s it going?”
She surveyed the foyer. “Where are your puppies?”
“They’re on the terrace with Sophia. How’s your murder investigation?”
“It’s a little like the mayor’s murder. More questions than answers.” She gave her a quick recap as they strolled out to the terrace. “I’m supposed to interview Donley’s friends tomorrow.”
They walked around a chaise lounge where Sophia and the puppies were snuggled together, sound asleep.
“Aw, look at them—so cute together. Don’t wake her. I’ll meet her tomorrow evening when I pick you up for the opera. I’ll swing by at five, so we’ll have time to chat a little.”
Gwen spent Tuesday interviewing Donley’s close buddies. First up was William Branson of the Boston Bransons. He led her into the study on his family’s oceanfront estate in Palm Beach.
She had deliberately worn a fitted skirt suit, conservative but sexy, and four-inch stilettos to see how her interviewees would behave. Branson fit the privileged playboy stereotype.
He poured himself a Scotch. “May I offer you a drink?”
“Ice water, please. I’m on duty.” She chose a cordovan wingback chair so she wouldn’t have to sit beside him in the secluded room. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“My pleasure.” He handed her a crystal glass filled with iced water. “Lady cops have come a long way since the dowdy meter maids of yesteryear.” He sat across from her and leered at her legs. “There’s something sexy about an armed and beautiful woman.”
She pulled out her electronic tablet. “How long had you known Denton Donley?”
He furrowed his brow, doing math in his head. “Twenty-four years, off and on. We were roommates the last two years of prep school, went to different colleges, then attended Harvard Law together. After graduation, we ran in the same social circles here and in Boston.”
“And you remained friends throughout the rape charges and trials?” She studied his eyes.
