by Susan Slater
“Step away from the car.”
“Not until you tell me who you are.” The man’s face was flushed bright red—anger? Booze? He guessed a little of both. The guy was big, probably had twenty pounds and fifteen years on Dan.
“I’m looking for my mother. This is her car.” Dan pointed to the Lexus.
“Well, you won’t find her here. That son of a bitch ran off with my wife. Just took off. Made her cut her hair and dye it red. Looked like a cheap whore.” Then instead of just stepping away from the car, he crumpled to the ground sobbing. “I don’t know what to do. I gave her a good life. Thirty-six years. Do you believe that? A lifetime and she runs off with some gigolo.” Elaine was out of the car and helping the man up. “I knew things weren’t right but don’t two people work things out? Give it a try anyway. She told me she wasn’t seeing this guy anymore. I thought it was over. Last year I caught ’em up in Palm Coast. His wife had just died, for God’s sake. I laid the law down then and things died down. Next thing I know he’s moved down here. I knew it’d started up again. I paid to have her followed but she said she was only helping him move in. That I wasted my money and it served me right for not trusting her—then she takes off.” Dan heard Elaine making soothing sounds and watched as she helped him cross the driveway and go back into his house.
Dan turned away. Red hair? Stanley made the man’s wife look like his mother. And a haircut? She was about the same height—five-foot five, according to Elaine’s report. It would be total camouflage. Anyone seeing them at a distance would easily mistake her for Maggie. Was the woman traveling with Maggie’s passport? In all likelihood. Had Stanley always planned on taking the world cruise with the neighbor’s wife? And that’s why it had been planned six months ago? And he only picked up Dan’s mother when he thought the affair was over? Was that why he’d moved to The Villages? Hoping the affair could be rekindled? But keeping his mother in tow just in case it couldn’t?
One way or another at this point it was fairly obvious that his mother was expendable. Stanley had killed her because he caught her snooping and needed her out of the way. But he also needed to cover up the deed—throw Dan off the trail by making him think his mother was alive and well. What better way to do that than leaving town with a Maggie-lookalike? One who would occasionally text and send pictures of the cruise and continue the ruse. Until they were safely in some foreign country that didn’t have an extradition treaty. Far-fetched? No, not at all.
Now the gnawing in the pit of his stomach felt more like an open wound. He took the front steps of Stanley’s house in twos, and by the time he was turning the key in the lock, Elaine was right behind him.
“This could be bad.” He turned to look at her. Elaine didn’t say anything, just squeezed his arm and stepped inside the house with him.
What a mess. They stopped just inside the door simply because any forward movement was thwarted by piles of clothing, toiletries, overturned end tables, ottoman, and a china cabinet that had crashed down against a sofa. Someone had fought for his or her life.
Elaine picked her way to the kitchen. This room was more in order. Someone had made coffee in what looked to be a new appliance and a quick check of the fridge revealed half and half, salad makings, cheese, butter, eggs—all apparently fresh. But three months of lock-up and this would be ruined. So why the fresh groceries? To keep Maggie from guessing he had an ulterior motive?
“I’ll check the bedrooms.” Dan headed down a short hall leading to the stairs.
Elaine stuck her head in the utility room—new washer, new dryer, cabinets empty. She moved down the hall opening doors. These closets were also empty, hangers on the floor like clothes had been hurriedly pulled from them. She guessed the last door on her right was the guest bathroom.
A turn of the knob and a gasp. “Dan.” She hadn’t meant to yell but he came running.
“Oh, my God.” They both stared. The smear of red that started at the corner of the vanity mirror continued across the pedestal sink and puddled on the floor. A bloody hand had pulled a bath towel off the rack and left a trail of fingerprints that slid down the wall. The glass shower door was open and streaked in long red smears that were both horizontal and vertical like someone had been pushed up against it and held even though they tried hard to get away.
“Do you think she’s…” She had meant to say ‘here’ but the thought that she could be dead pushed that word aside. Dead. She could be dead. “Oh, Dan, I’m so afraid.”
“Let me finish checking upstairs,” was all he said and left her standing in the hall.
Elaine braced herself for a yell to come up. She heard doors opening and shutting, and finally Dan came back down and just shook his head. “Nothing. Wait, the garage. I’ll look.” Again, he returned shaking his head. “She’s not here. The Chrysler’s gone. Maybe they took her to dump somewhere along the way.”
“Please, don’t talk like she’s dead.”
“It’s a reality and things don’t look good.”
“You know, there’s one other place to check.”
Dan looked up expectantly. “The storage barn—remember I told you about it. Supposedly Stanley was keeping some garden things there along with the elf and his bass boat. I saw a ring of keys on a peg in the utility room; I’ll bet one of them opens the padlock.”
“Can you find the place again?” Elaine nodded. “Then, let’s go.”
***
It looked different in daylight. More like an oversized Quonset hut than a storage barn. Ballet flats made the going a little rough but Elaine’s sheer will to get there as quickly as she could helped her keep up. Dan was half running up the slight incline to the front door. Both of them were a little out of breath but it didn’t take long to match the “master” key to the “master” padlock.
Dan threw open the door. There was enough light coming in from openings near the top of the roof’s overhang to see fairly clearly. The place was packed. And with big things. Portable basketball stands, party tents, a golf ball picker cart, kayaks, fishing gear leaning against the wall…Stanley couldn’t be the only renter.
“Mom?” Dan yelled, and started down the center aisle at a jog stopping every few feet to yell again. “Nothing.” His voice seemed to bounce off of the high ceiling. “If she’s here, she can’t answer us. We’re going to have to turn this place upside down.”
“Where do we start?” Elaine sounded defeated.
“Let’s start at the side walls and work to the center. I’ll take the left.”
Elaine moved what she could, looked behind, under, in, and over everything else. She found a stepstool and dragged it along for things over six feet and worked her way to a covered boat in the back corner. A canvas tarp was stretched tightly in place and snapped down around the edges. An outboard motor was leaning against the open-bed towing platform underneath.
Elaine set up the stepstool and climbed up. The snaps were rusty in places and resistant to being undone but she was persistent until she could gather a handful of canvas and just pull the covering back a couple feet. And she wasn’t sure what she was looking at. A pile of rags? Bedding? She reached down and grabbed a corner of fabric and lifted.
“Oh no, oh no…” She squeezed down into the boat and reached for her phone. Nine-one-one. Directions to the barn—a brief description of the injuries as they appeared to an untrained eye. Then Dan was beside her lifting his mother out from under the boat’s plank seating. Her breathing was barely discernible but there—a slow in and out that hardly ruffled her tee-shirt. But breath—life-sustaining breath, no less. The side of her head bloodied, hair badly matted and stuck to her forehead, an arm that dangled at a precarious angle, a cut lip, black eye…Elaine wanted to burst into tears. She couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if they hadn’t come when they did. Maggie Mahoney had been left to die. What kind of monster could do this? But then, she knew, didn’t
she?
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. An ambulance to The Villages Regional Medical Center, Police reports, then a run back to Stanley’s to open the house to members of the crime lab. A couple hours of swabbing and photographing evidence, another trip back to the hospital waiting until Mom was out of surgery—not out of danger but the doctor was hopeful. They’d know more in the morning. All this and far too many cups of black coffee to even count before Dan and Elaine could just sit and take a deep breath.
And then Dan’s cell rang.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Mr. Mahoney, Kristen here with Dream Vacations, I don’t know how to tell you this—I mean we’re still investigating the matter but your father and mother seem to have left the ship. Well, what I mean to say is that they did not rejoin the ship after an afternoon in port. I want to assure you that we have every bit of security personnel addressing the problem.”
“What do you mean left the ship? You mean you can’t find them?”
“Well, yes. Oh my, nothing sinister has happened—they didn’t fall overboard.” A chuckle that was supposed to denote humor but fell flat. “I think they just missed the shore curfew and we’ve been instructed to sail without them. Schedules, you know. We can’t hold up a few hundred people for two. Once they’re found they will rejoin us at the next port. There are nineteen resorts on the islands. Countless restaurants and bars. A seven-mile stretch of absolutely pristine sand. It wouldn’t be the first time that a couple has wandered away, fallen asleep on the beach—”
“And where would this be?”
“Our first stop, the Grand Cayman.”
Bingo. Dan knew Stanley Evers, or whoever he was, and Miss Look-Like-His-Mother might not be rejoining the ship. They probably weren’t even in the Cayman Islands as they spoke. No, a large amount of cash had probably accompanied them on the cruise and was either deposited on the island or was still with them. He’d give Scott Ramsey a call because he’d bet there had been a charter—boat or plane—with two passengers aboard leaving the islands for parts unknown earlier in the day. Or maybe they would be rejoining the cruise ship after securing the money in an account. One or the other. He just had no idea which.
And if someone would check dates, he’d also bet that the rumored delivery of large amounts of cash to the casino would coincide with Stanley’s wanderlust and cruise fetish over the last six or so months. Stanley was a money-mover. Large sums would find their way offshore, thanks to a little help. And Dan knew who had provided that help. He just wished his mother had never met him.
He thanked Kristen and hung up. The thought that his mother had been left for dead was too upsetting to dwell on. They had found her. She would be all right. That’s what he had to keep telling himself.
He quickly filled Elaine in. Mr. and Mrs. Evers seemed to be missing. No surprise. He’d let Scott Ramsey know and trust that the right people would get the information.
“Let’s sleep at Mom’s tonight. I’ll call Joan, tell her what’s happened, and ask her to walk Simon and then feed him. I want to be here just in case and sit with Mom in the morning. I think she’s out of the woods but I don’t want to take a chance.”
Elaine nodded. She looked as tired as he felt.
***
Elaine helped him put the bed frame together in the master bedroom, flopped the box springs onto the frame, then lifted the mattress into place, and rummaged through boxes until she found a set of queen-sized sheets. Pillows were another story and remained an enigma. Maybe they could use folded up towels—those she’d found. Under any other circumstances it would be fun to sort of be roughing it. Light candles, order in pizza….
She gave Dan Scott’s number, started a pot of coffee and collapsed on the couch.
“I bet you get an ‘A’ if I give you all the credit.” A sort of lopsided grin but the first relaxed, attempt to be funny all day.
She grinned back. “Interesting business you’re in. I’ll be glad when it doesn’t hit so close to home.”
The call was short. She could only imagine Scott’s reaction. This would be a big breakthrough for the FBI. She poured two mugs of coffee with extra half and half and returned to the sofa, handing a mug to Dan.
“Your instructor was one happy man. I think ol’ Stanley will be a little surprised that he’s about to be caught. Shouldn’t take them too long to pick up the trail—especially when Stanley’s not looking over his shoulder. Of course, we screwed up his grand plan. I hate to think that his plan might have worked—kept us from guessing the truth.”
“It’s just so ruthless, cruel—no, even those words don’t touch leaving someone to die.”
“It’s difficult for me to get my mind around. Scott said he’d let us know when he had him. But I’m not too sure I ever want to see Stanley again.”
Elaine scooted the coffee table closer to the couch and opened her laptop. “I think some kind of mindless bit of frivolity is in order. Anything you’d like to stream?”
Dan was saved from having to figure out if that was an opportunity to name a chick-flick and get some points or a chance to name the most recent sci-fi thriller and snag something he’d really like to watch. His phone rang.
“Marie Hunt here and, yes, I know it’s after-hours. I just haven’t had the chance until now to follow up on something that’s been bothering me. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Yes, this is a good time.” Dan shrugged his shoulders and mouthed “lab.”
“When you brought that latex glove in, I tested it for blood—what was obvious—and then put it aside. There was a large amount of talcum in the glove, and I didn’t bother to look for prints. And, well, long story short, I should have.” The sound of her clearing her throat, “I was able to lift a pretty good index fingerprint. But the interesting thing is when I ran it through the print bank looking for a match, there was one, but the guy’s been dead for eighteen years. A Franco Marconi. Former Mafia. I checked the FBI files and according to them he lost his life in a shoot-out. I’ll turn the info over in the morning but I thought you might like to know there’s another suspect out there—if you can find him. This one tied directly to the death of the casino owner or maybe that kennel owner, too. But it’s definitely good news for that young man you mentioned. I think the motives just moved beyond a little name-calling.”
Marconi, Marconi…yes, of course, now Dan remembered. He reached for his iPad and brought up the Wikipedia entry on Dixie Halifax. Bingo. The merry widow might not be so merry. Was the husband F. Marconi really Franco Marconi? Still very much alive?
“Would you happen to have any pictures of this Marconi?”
“A couple from the eighties or nineties, probably. Nothing recent. Obviously, no reason to update records on the dead.”
“Email them to me if it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.” After profuse thank you’s, Dan hung up.
“What was that all about?”
He quickly told Elaine what Dr. Hunt had found and passed her his iPad. “It’d be interesting if we knew this Marconi.”
“Wow. Dead Mafioso still alive, witness protection program makeovers, dead dogs that still race—I guess I was hoping we’d found out Stanley’s real name. Do you think we know this Marconi?”
“We’ll see soon enough—looks like I just got the pictures.” Dan opened his email and enlarged the first picture. A young man in a baseball cap—a Yankees cap. Thick, long dark stringy hair just touched his shoulders. A tight-fitting tee-shirt strained against muscled arms and ripped torso. The man was short, maybe no more than five eight or nine. This was not Stanley Evers. The next photo was a headshot, same cap, face in the shadows but his hair was pulled behind his left ear and something in his ear caught the light. Dan enlarged the photo. The man was wearing a sizeable diamond stud. Dan sat back. What do you know? He was pretty familiar with a guy who wore a diamond in his ear. Add twenty-five ye
ars and some short, curly, white hair…was Fred Manson really Franco Marconi? The husband, supposedly deceased, of Dixie Halifax? Dan reached for his cell and left a message for Scott Ramsey. Talk about making a guy’s day.
***
Dan slept fitfully. Visions of calzones, diamond studs, and pistol-whippings danced in and out of his semi-consciousness. A vivid picture of his mother lying in the bottom of Stanley’s stored boat brought him bolt upright—shaking and sweating.
“Are you okay?” Elaine turned on a bedside lamp.
“Tough to shut down my mind. Too many what-ifs.”
“Will Dr. Hunt turn over the glove evidence to Scott or local police?”
“Probably to Scott. The perps are more in their ballpark. I just wish I’d taken a firm stand with Mom—I feel guilty not trying to dissuade her from snooping around to get information on Stanley. I’d like her to stay with us for a few days when she gets out—or for however long it takes her to heal and feel comfortable being alone.”
“Of course.” Elaine took his hand. “Simon will be absolutely spoiled having someone here all day. It’s five-ten, do you want to try for another hour or so of sleep or should I go make coffee?”
“I wouldn’t mind getting to the hospital by six. Guess it’s coffee.” He glanced over at Elaine prepared to apologize but she was already out of bed pulling on a tee-shirt.
“See you in the kitchen.”
***
A bright blue cast and sling offered the only color, aside from tufts of flaming red hair pushing out from underneath the wide strip of gauze across her forehead. Otherwise, Maggie Mahoney could have blended in with the white sheets. But she was awake. Dan tried to hide his concern but knew he’d failed.
“Oh, for God’s sake, get rid of the long face. I’m not dying. Unless utter stupidity can be fatal. Actually, it almost was, wasn’t it?” The attempt to laugh brought a groan and a left hand pressed to her forehead. “Of course, he broke my right arm. The son of a bitch. But I put myself in a compromising position. I absolutely have no one to blame.”
