by Junie Coffey
“—and bingo. Nina Spark, thirty-seven years old today. I’m a professional investigator, don’t forget,” said Danish, obviously pleased with himself.
Nina was touched, but she thought it best to put the kibosh on Danish’s idea of investigating. “Professional usually means somebody is paying for your services, Danish. No one has ever paid us to do anything investigation-wise,” she reminded him.
“You can be a professional artist without getting paid,” replied Danish. “Ever hear of Vincent van Gogh? He painted more than nine hundred paintings in his lifetime and only sold a couple to friends and relatives who felt sorry for him. I rest my case. Anyway, happy birthday.”
“Thank you. You’re very thoughtful,” said Nina as she walked over to the little group by the sofa and gave them each a hug. Her eyes fell on the birthday cake and a pitcher of piña coladas on the table. “Oh, that’s so nice. Come on. Let’s have a drink and a piece of cake. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate!”
“Bet you can,” said Danish.
“Well, all right, if you’re sure,” said Pansy. She gestured for Andrew to press the “Play” button on the portable stereo they’d brought. Bob Marley started singing “Stir It Up.”
Nina walked briskly over to the kitchen and got some glasses and plates out of the cupboard. Ted followed her to help.
“Happy birthday,” he said, taking the dishes and cutlery from her and kissing her on the cheek.
They sat around the table eating cake and drinking piña coladas. Danish drained his glass and jumped to his feet.
“That hit the spot,” he said, patting his belly. “Speaking of covert or otherwise-awkward nighttime entries and exits—”
“Which we weren’t,” said Pansy.
“—did I ever tell you about my roommate Bram?” Danish rose from his seat and began dancing around the room to Toots and the Maytals. “Ibrahim West. We were both bodywork majors at the Boulder College of the Healing Arts. Tall, skinny guy. Well, one night Bram was working late in the homeopathy lab. He had a weapons-grade cleansing tea he thought he could patent, sell a ton of, and retire at age twenty-five. Anyway, lights went out, and he got locked in the lab with nothing to eat or drink but his glow-in-the-dark tea. The campus was deserted. Meanwhile, he had to be on a five thirty flight to Austin the next morning to keep a date he’d made with a girl he’d met there the year before. Just like in a movie,” he said.
“How romantic,” said Pansy, looking at Andrew.
“Yeah, so, anyway, Bram decides the only way to go is out the window and rappel down the side of the building. He ties the curtains together, anchors them to the radiator, and swings over the window ledge. So far so good. Only thing is, these drapes are one hundred percent organic cotton grown and loosely woven by flower children. So, rrrip! Bram said he swung like a pendulum across the facade of the building and ended up in the butterfly garden. Still made it to Austin, though. Oh, sorry, Nina.”
The story involved a lot of wide arm gestures, and Danish had managed to knock a whole shelf of books onto the floor.
“Just leave it,” said Nina. “I’ll get it in the morning. Let’s go outside and look at the stars.”
“So, what happened to Bram and the girl from Austin?” asked Pansy as they gathered their things and headed outside.
“Actually, she didn’t show,” said Danish. “Bram was bummed for about five minutes. Funny thing, he never patented his tea. He’s a TV weatherman in Phoenix now.”
Pansy made another pitcher of piña coladas, and Ted lit a driftwood fire on the beach in front of the cottage. They sat around it talking while they finished off the pitcher, and then another. After a while, Pansy and Andrew went home, and at some point, Danish disappeared. Ted kicked the remains of the fire apart and sprinkled sand on the ashes, then he and Nina walked slowly back up to the cottage. Nina was beat. She curled up on the sofa while Ted put the dirty glasses and plates in the sink. The next thing she knew, the sun was streaming in through the big windows, and Blue Roker was banging on her front door.
6
Now Nina was in the passenger seat of a police Jeep beside Deputy Superintendent Blue Roker, and Philip had been discovered unconscious on the beach at the Plantation Inn. She was still struggling to sort out the chain of events, and her head ached. She wondered if it would be appropriate to ask for a glass of water and a Tylenol at the police station.
They cruised through town at just the right speed for the residents of Coconut Cove to get a good look at her en route to the police station. Blue rolled to a stop, and they got out.
“After you,” he said, gesturing her to go ahead of him up the walkway into the station. She did as she was told. Her flip-flops slapped the polished concrete floor. Behind her, the heels of his boots struck the floor with a heavy thud. She waited while he opened the metal door into the squad room, then followed him in. He led her not to his office at the back but into a small, windowless interrogation room with a tiny table and two chairs in it—nothing else.
“Please have a seat,” he said, pulling out the cheap plastic stacking chair for her. He sat down across from her and pulled a digital tape recorder out of his pocket. He turned it on and set it on the table between them.
“OK, Nina. Please tell me what happened last night. When did you last see Professor Putzel?”
Nina looked at the tape recorder. “Shouldn’t you take notes, too? What if that thing malfunctions? Then you’d be in a pickle.”
He looked at her for a moment. A trademark Blue Roker inscrutable blue stare.
“Can you please just answer the question?” he said.
Nina sighed. “OK, of course. Well, Philip gave his speech. Nobody knew quite what to say after that, so everyone just sort of drifted away. That must have been about nine o’clock. Some people went into the bar. Some went out to have a nightcap on the veranda. The others just went to their rooms, I guess. Philip went off toward the veranda with a young woman. A fan. I didn’t see him for a while. Then I saw him in the bar, talking to someone.”
“What time was that?”
“Ten o’clock, or just after. I know because I looked at my watch to see if it was too early to go home.”
“Pardon me?”
“I wanted to leave, at least to get away from the crowd at the inn, but things had kind of unraveled during Philip’s speech. I thought maybe I should stick around for a while to make sure everything was all right because Philip had hired me to organize the conference—or at least to look after the local logistics.”
Blue looked at her intently for a second, then took a deep breath and asked, “Who was he talking to?”
“I couldn’t see the other person. I just saw Philip through the open door.”
Blue took a small notebook and pencil out of his shirt pocket and made a note. She couldn’t see it; his hand was in the way.
“What was his demeanor?”
“Sorry?”
“You said he was speaking with someone you couldn’t see. Did it look like an argument, or like he was telling a joke, or like he was giving directions?
“No, it didn’t look like an argument. It just looked like he was holding forth like he usually does.”
“What do you mean holding forth?”
“To put it bluntly, Philip likes the sound of his own voice. He tends to monopolize conversation. He gives the impression that whatever he has to say is more important than whatever anyone else has to say.”
Blue made another, longer note in his book.
“Does Dr. Putzel have any enemies?”
“Like I said, Blue, he’s not very nice to a lot of people. He’s downright cruel to Bri—some of them.” She didn’t want to point the finger at Bridget.
“Bridget Neary,” said Blue.
Damn.
“Dr. Putzel’s assistant. You saw him treat her badly?”
“Yes, he belittles her in front of her peers and treats her like an intern—which she’s not. But he treats everyone
badly. He insulted both Razor and Victor last night, probably not for the first time. I don’t imagine Sylvia has any great affection for him. Or his other ex-wife. And who knows how his current wife feels about him these days. If being the target of Philip’s offensive behavior is your criteria for drawing up a list of suspects, you might as well put my name down there, too. For that matter, Bubba Delancy wasn’t too thrilled with Philip’s speech last night, given the money he put up to sponsor the conference. But being offended is a pretty weak motive for murder, isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” said Blue noncommittally. “What about something more concrete? Money. Professional jealousy. Scorned lovers. Anything like that you are aware of?”
“I’m mercifully ignorant of Philip’s love life. I do know he remarried a year or so ago and that he and his wife just had a baby. I wasn’t invited to the wedding, and I’ve never met her. Nor his second wife. That was before I knew him. Sylvia, his first wife, is in the same field, so I see her once in a while at conferences. She always seems very content and to be enjoying her life post-Philip—they split up a long time ago. She’s here at the conference. I can’t imagine money would be a motive, at least not for anyone attending the conference. They’re all in the same boat, financially speaking. As university lecturers and professors, none of them has the kind of money you’d kill for, but I don’t think any would be in dire need of money, either. They all make a good living.” Except for Bridget, perhaps, thought Nina. Philip probably didn’t pay her much, and certainly not what she was worth. Maybe she was bitter about it. But Nina wasn’t going to tell Blue that. It wouldn’t be fair.
“Professional jealousy. I suppose there could be something there,” she continued. “You know what they say: academic politics are so vicious because the stakes are so low.”
“Are you aware of anyone attending the conference who may have had a grudge of that nature against Dr. Putzel?” Blue asked.
Nina felt uncomfortable. She didn’t know Razor at all. He hated Philip, that was obvious, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who could commit murder. Victor was a friend, and she’d known Sylvia for years.
“Look, as I mentioned earlier, Philip probably only had direct interaction with about a dozen of the delegates before this week. And their interaction was probably limited to e-mail—correspondence about research papers and things like that. I’m sure his e-mail records could tell you. Among the conference delegates, the group who knew him best or worked with him on a regular basis were those sitting at our table last night—Sylvia, Bridget, Victor, Razor, and me. And he’s burned all of us at one time or another.”
She felt a pang of guilt, remembering everything that Philip had done for her despite himself since her abrupt move to Pineapple Cay.
Blue shifted in his seat.
“Where were you between ten o’clock last night and seven o’clock this morning?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes.
So, she was a suspect.
“Ted picked me up at the inn after the banquet broke up. We had a drink on the veranda, then went by boat back to my place. Pansy, Andrew, and Danish were there. It was a surprise. It was my birthday yesterday. I’m thirty-seven. Still not an old lady, in my opinion,” she said, trying to inject a bit of levity into this increasingly tense situation. Blue did not react. Nina took a breath and continued.
“We sat on the beach and talked. It was nice. I had rather a lot to drink, I’m afraid. Coconut rum goes down very easily. Like liquid ice cream. Then I guess I went to sleep, until you knocked on my door this morning.”
Blue looked at her without speaking for a moment.
“What time did Ted leave?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Nina answered, her cheeks burning. “I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.” Blue didn’t ask about Pansy, Andrew, or Danish, and she didn’t volunteer anything. She still wasn’t quite clear how Danish had ended up in her bed.
Blue reached out and turned off the recorder.
“OK. That’s all for now, Nina. I may have more questions for you later. I can get one of the officers to give you a ride home, if you like.”
“No, thank you. That’s OK. I’ll walk.”
They stood, and he walked her to the door.
“If you think of anything that might be relevant to the investigation, please give me a call,” he said as he opened the heavy metal door. “Otherwise, I’ll be in touch.”
“I will,” said Nina.
Blue nodded briskly and disappeared again behind the metal door. Nina walked out into the brilliant sunlight. She’d forgotten to bring her sunglasses and hat, so she put her head down and walked to the waterfront. She’d decided to walk home along the beach rather than through town, where she’d likely be quizzed on Philip’s assault by random passersby. The Pineapple Cay bush telegraph must be humming by now.
Her bedroom door was wide open when she arrived home, and Danish was gone. The only sign that he’d been there was a huge hunk newly missing from the collapsed birthday cake on the kitchen table. Nina wrapped up the remaining quarter and put it in the fridge. She made coffee and sat down on the veranda with her bare feet in the cool sand to think things through. She looked over at Les’s bungalow. No signs of life and no loud music. Apparently, he and Bridget had hit it off last night.
Thank you, Bridget, for your questionable taste in men, Nina said to herself. Another run-in with Les was more than she was up to today.
Nina took a sip of her coffee and looked out at the water. Shades of turquoise and jade deepened to sapphire blue out past the reef. The sky was bleached white in the building heat. A breeze rustled the palm fronds. Another perfect morning in paradise. Not for Philip, of course. Could Razor possibly have been angry enough to try to kill him? It suddenly occurred to Nina that she needed to make a decision about the conference. There were fifty—well, forty-nine—conference delegates milling around the breakfast buffet over at the Plantation Inn likely in shock and wondering what would happen now. Philip was supposed to make a presentation this morning, but that obviously wouldn’t be happening. She’d better head over there to check on him and sort things out.
She heard her front screen door slam, five heavy footsteps through her house, then the screen door onto the veranda burst open. It was Danish, of course. Despite knowing each other less than two months, he’d given up knocking when he came over.
“Hey, Nina. Wow. I just went home to the inn, and the police were all over the joint.”
Danish taught yoga classes at the inn in exchange for room and board.
He said with excitement, “Sophia, one of the chambermaids, told me that the guy you were working for, the professor, washed up on the beach this morning, about seven o’clock! He was lying in the surf with a huge syringe sticking out of his leg. Red as a lobster, patchy all over. Unconscious. Nothing on but boxer shorts, Sophia said. She heard it directly from the old lady who found him. She’s totally out of it now, the old lady. They had to sedate her.”
“Blue’s been here already. Danish, what were you doing in my bed last night, dare I ask?”
“I had a tad too many celebratory beverages at your birthday bash, so I crashed here. I figured you’d end up at Ted’s,” he said.
“I fell asleep on the sofa here. What’s with all the towels?” She gestured inside to where there was still a trail of wet towels from the bathroom to the bedroom.
“Sorry—I went for a swim at some point last night, and I had to shower to get the salt off before I went to bed,” he said. He went inside with Nina following him and began gathering up the towels, then looked around for somewhere to put them. He stashed them behind the bathroom door.
“OK, whatever. I’ve got to get over to the inn now. Are you driving your mail cart?” Nina asked.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll give you a lift,” he said. Nina grabbed her bag, hat, sunglasses, and sunscreen, and they headed out the door. They climbed into the red Pineapple Cay Postal Service golf cart.
He l
ooked over at her as they drove through the back streets of Coconut Cove. “I guess we’re back in business,” he said.
“What do you mean?” asked Nina. Her head hurt. She still needed to find some Tylenol.
“I mean, we’re a crime-solving unit with a stellar track record. I wonder if Pansy can get someone to babysit her kids this afternoon so we can get cracking,” said Danish.
“Hold on. Danish, our one and only adventure in crime fighting was a fluke. We’re lucky we didn’t end up in jail—or dead. This doesn’t involve us. Please. Well, it doesn’t involve you, anyway, unless you killed Philip Putzel. It seems I’m a suspect.”
“What?”
“Danish! Watch the road!” They narrowly missed sideswiping a recycling bin on the sidewalk. After yanking the steering wheel to swerve back onto the road, Danish turned his head to stare at Nina again.
To avoid a crash, she spoke rapidly. “Blue is drawing up a list of everyone who might have had both a motive and the opportunity to murder Philip. It looks like I’m on it, at least until he talks to you, Pansy, and Ted about where I was last night.”
Ted. A wave of nausea washed over Nina. Blue was going to question Ted sometime today about her alibi for last night. That was embarrassing.
Danish turned off the main road into the shade of the long, tree-lined lane to the inn.
“Well?” asked Danish, turning to stare at her.
“Well, what?” said Nina.
“Well, did you do it?” he said.
“Yes, I did, Danish. I tried to kill my former boss, then went home and had piña coladas and birthday cake with you. No, of course I didn’t do it.”
“Well, that’s good. I had to ask, you know. To eliminate you from our inquiries.”
Nina snorted with exasperation.
“So, does Blue have any leads yet?” Danish asked as they came to a stop in the inn’s parking area. There were a couple of police Jeeps by the curb. “Did you see anything suspicious last night at your wingding? A few of those characters looked a little shifty, if you ask me. A couple of ladies attended my afternoon yoga class yesterday, and I did my usual ‘Where are you from/What are you doing here/How are you enjoying Pineapple Cay so far’ thing—and they wouldn’t look me in the eye. It was like they couldn’t get out of there fast enough. They ignored each other, too. Not to brag or anything, but I’m usually quite popular with the ladies on vacation.”
