by Tripp Ellis
"Honey, I will testify that Calvin is the real deal." There was a lascivious sparkle in her eyes.
"Don't even think about trying to pin that bullshit on me. I did not kill that woman," Calvin said. "If you’ve got any more questions, talk to my lawyer."
He escorted his ladies back to the set. They took their places, and the director yelled, "Action!"
A production assistant played the song on his cell phone, and Calvin began his performance.
The girls jiggled.
We left the music video set, if you could call it that, and headed to Highland Village. It was an upscale, open-air mall with high-end boutiques. The mall was filled with luxury items that ranged from designer clothes, handbags, shoes, leather jackets, to jewelry, and more. It was THE place to shop on the island.
We strolled through the courtyard, the bright sun high overhead. The mall was filled with tourists and locals, windowshopping, maxing out their credit cards, lugging designer bags from store to store.
"I gotta hit the restroom," Jack said as we strolled to the jewelry store that had been knocked off the week before. "I'll meet you there."
Jack veered left and headed down a long hallway.
The upscale jewelry store was like any other. Display cases were lined with sparkling diamond rings, gold and silver watches, and elegant necklaces. There was every type of precious gemstone.
A friendly salesclerk asked, “Can I help you?"
"Deputy Wild, Coconut County Sheriff's Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about last week's robbery."
"Sure, what do you want to know?"
"Were you working that day?"
She cringed. "Unfortunately."
I couldn't help but notice a striking woman at the opposite counter. She was trying on different bracelets and necklaces, moving from one display case to the next.
Another sales associate assisted her.
Everything the woman looked at was expensive.
A designer handbag hung from her forearm. She wore a tight black dress that left little to the imagination. The high hemline showed off her toned legs. Stiletto heels accented her calf muscles. The brunette had tanned skin and sultry features. She wore oversized designer sunglasses, and a black, wide-brimmed hat that conveniently shielded her face from the security cameras in the ceiling.
It seemed like the biggest challenge that she had was deciding which $20,000 necklace to purchase.
I peeled my eyes away from her luscious form and focused on the task at hand. "Were you here that day?"
"You already asked me that."
"Right. Sorry. I watched the video of the robbery. Is there anything else you can tell me about the thieves?”
The sales clerk shrugged. "I don't know. It all happened so fast. It's like a blur. Honestly, I thought I was going to die. I'm still freaked out about it. I'm actually looking for another job."
"I'm sorry. That must have been a horrible experience."
"It was."
"Did these guys use any names? Was there anything identifiable about them?"
"The stupid masks they wore still give me nightmares." She thought about it for a moment. "I remember three of them came in. Two of them emptied the display cases, and one of them stood by the door. The one with the shotgun told everyone to get down, be quiet, and no one would get hurt. He said not to do anything stupid." She paused. “Look, I make $8.50 an hour, plus commission. They can take whatever they want."
I gave her my card. "If you can remember any details, let me know."
"I will. I already told the other deputies everything I know."
"I understand. But sometimes something will spark a memory down the road. You never know."
"You don't think they'll come back, do you?"
I shrugged. "Honestly, it's hard to say. They know the store is insured, and once you get restocked, they could very well hit this place again."
“Ugh. I’m totally quitting."
I looked over at the gorgeous brunette. She had the sales clerk frazzled, moving between the cases. I watched her for a moment. There were two necklaces she was torn between. Her face twisted with anxiety, then she finally handed both of them back. "I don't know. I need to think about it."
"You could just get them both!” The sales associate smiled.
"I could," the brunette said. She had a slight trace of an accent. Maybe South American? "Can you hold both for me? I need to get something to eat. I get a little shaky if my blood sugar runs low. I'll be back in an hour. Do not sell those without talking to me."
The sales clerk smiled again, the possibility of a large commission swirling in her eyes.
The gorgeous brunette spun around and sauntered toward the exit. She still had a brilliant, sparkling bracelet on her wrist—one that she had tried on at the beginning of her frenzied search for the perfect necklace.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you going to pay for that?" I asked.
She tilted her sunglasses, and her eyes blazed into me. She knew I had caught her at her game, and she wasn't happy about it. She pretended to be shocked. "Oh, my God! I totally forgot.”
I’d seen better acting in daytime soaps.
She turned around, took off the bracelet, and handed it back to the associate. “Hold this for me too. I'm so sorry. I got so excited, and my blood sugar is low…"
"It's no problem, ma’am. I totally understand," the associate said.
The brunette forced a smile at me and strutted toward the door.
I followed her into the common area.
Her high heels clacked against the tile, and her hips swayed in mesmerizing ways. I caught up to her and kept pace beside her. "That's some racket you've got going. How often do you get away with it?"
She gave me a drop-dead look. "I don't know what you're talking about."
“Don't sell yourself short. You're talented. You had that girl’s head spinning. She wouldn't have known that bracelet was gone until inventory check."
She picked up the pace. "What are you, some kind of cop?"
"Deputy, actually."
"Well, Deputy…?"
"Wild.”
“You have terrible instincts. I am no thief."
"You certainly don't look like your average shoplifter."
She grinned. "What do I look like?"
I took a deep breath. She looked like a handful. I thought of something more complementary to say. ”You look like a precious jewel."
"You're sweet, Deputy Wild." She stopped, pulled down her sunglasses, and looked at me with those gorgeous eyes.
My pulse quickened.
Her hypnotic gaze lingered. ”A terrible cop, but you’re sweet.”
She sauntered away, and I stayed put, transfixed.
"Catch you later," I said.
She looked back over her shoulder and smirked.
I watched her hips sway from side to side. I needed to have my head examined. That woman was a big ball of dysfunction wrapped in a pretty little package.
And I was completely smitten.
6
Highland Village was filled with upscale eateries. The food court wasn’t just fast food. We sat at an outdoor table at Scarpetti's, eating pizza. We split a small pie. Big Tony had recently opened the place. In addition to his weekly poker games, the former Mafia heavyweight was becoming quite the restauranteur. This was his second restaurant, and by the looks of it, he was killing it.
The place was packed. Conversation roared. Forks clinked against plates, and ice rattled glasses. Waiters scurried from table to table. The air was filled with the delightful scent of Italian seasonings.
Big Tony was making money hand over fist.
The red sauce was sweet and zesty, the toppings were fresh, the cheese was hot and gooey, and the dough was perfect—not too thick, not too thin. The place was decorated with black-and-white photos of New York, and the menu was filled with an array of Italian dishes. His wife's lasagna was the signature dish.
It was to die for!
; JD's phone rang.
He pulled the device from his pocket and looked at the screen. His face crinkled, not recognizing the number. He let it ring for a moment, then finally took the call. "Hello?"
A soft female voice crackled through the speaker. I couldn't hear exactly what was said.
"Yes, this is Deputy Donovan… I'm so sorry for your loss… Sure… Absolutely… We're just finishing up lunch. Where would you like to meet?"
There was another brief exchange, then Jack hung up the phone.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Sarah Carson. She’d like to speak with us about her mother's murder. She wants us to meet her at the Wasted Pelican."
We finished the meal, payed the tab, then headed over to Oyster Avenue. The Wasted Pelican was a typical beach-themed bar. They served beer, wine, and mixed drinks, and offered an array of fresh seafood. The Cajun shrimp gumbo was pretty good. There was usually a live band on the patio at night. During the day it was more subdued. It could get pretty crazy after the sun went down.
A mural depicted a drunk pelican with his eyes spinning and a cocktail dangling from his grasp. The loopy bird teetered atop a bollard with the ocean in the background.
Sarah Carson sat in a booth in the back, wearing sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She was a pretty girl—19 or 20. She had a fresh face, long blonde hair, and didn't wear much makeup—she didn’t need to.
We introduced ourselves, then slid into the booth across the table from her.
"Thanks for coming," Sarah said. Her eyes darted around the restaurant, nervously. "I don't want anyone to know that I'm talking to you."
"What's going on?" JD asked.
Family members were always suspects. But from what I could tell, Sarah didn't have anything to gain from her mother's death. At least not directly. She’d most likely have to wait until her father passed to acquire any inheritance—if there was any. I didn't really consider her a suspect, but then again, it was best to keep an open mind.
People are capable of anything.
"I'm concerned," she said. "I don't know what to think. I don't want to get anyone in trouble." She corrected her statement. "I mean, I don't want to get an innocent person in trouble."
"What's your concern?" I asked.
"It's my Dad." She took a deep breath, then hesitated. "I don't know how to say this."
"We're just talking," JD said.
"Okay. Here goes. He's been acting kinda… shady… lately."
"Define shady," I said.
She hesitated again. "He and Mom have been having problems for a long time. I know he's got a girlfriend."
That piqued our interest. JD and I exchanged a glance.
"Mom and Dad only stuck together because of the business. They almost went under a few years ago. I think they were this close to filing bankruptcy," Sarah said holding her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. "Then things turned around when Mom started doing the custom work. She got savvy with marketing and social media advertising. She was able to get a lot of influencers on board to promote the brand."
"Tell us about the girlfriend," Jack said. "Do you know who she is?"
Sarah nodded. "Her name is Ivy Quinn." A disgusting look twisted on Sarah's face. "She's barely a year older than I am!"
"Do you think she could have anything to do with your mother's murder?" I asked.
Sarah shrugged. "I don't know. I got the impression that she didn't want to be the other woman forever. But Dad was never going to split from Mom as long as the business was doing well." Her face twisted with confusion as she thought about the situation. "It doesn't make any sense, though. I know Mom and Dad had a contentious relationship at times. But I don't think he would kill her. He didn't have anything to gain."
"The whole business would be his," Jack said. "He wouldn't have to buy her out. Divorces can get sticky. Do you know if he had a life insurance policy on her?"
Sarah shrugged. "The business would nosedive without Mom. Dad handled all the financial stuff, the bookkeeping, the taxes. All the boring stuff." She sighed. "I feel bad for even thinking this. No one's gonna know I talked to you, are they?"
"No one is going to know, unless..." I said.
“Unless what?"
"You may be called to testify if this moves forward."
Her eyes rounded, and she swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can do that." She paused a moment. "Dad's just been acting weird lately. Maybe he's just under a lot of stress and I’m imagining all of this?"
"How is your relationship with your father?"
"We get along. I guess. I don't want to make it sound like he's a horrible person. I mean, I’m mad at him for fooling around on Mom. I just… I don't know what to think." Her eyes filled, and she paused a moment to wipe away the tears. She broke down and sobbed, her chest jerking with heaves. She grabbed the napkin from the dispenser on the table and blotted her face.
After a moment, she pulled herself together.
"Does your father own a handgun?" I asked. "A .45, perhaps?"
"I think he has a few guns, but I don't know what kind they are. He keeps them locked in the safe."
"Do you have access to it?"
Sarah shook her head.
"Did your mom ever confide in you, share any concerns?" I asked.
She nodded. "We were close. She didn't like to bad mouth Dad to me. She didn't want me to have a negative view of him. Now and then, she’d grumble about his girlfriend and make a snide comment."
"So, she knew?" I asked.
Sarah nodded.
"Maybe this whole thing is just random? Maybe it's a robbery gone wrong, and I'm looking for things that aren't there?" She slumped.
"It's okay to explore different possibilities,” I said. “You want closure. And your mind is looking for a way to get it."
She shrugged. "I guess."
"Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to harm your mother?"
Sarah pondered the question. "I mean, she didn't get along with Vivian at all."
"Who's Vivian?" I asked.
"She's the tennis pro at the club. It's kind of funny, actually. Mom has won the club championship every year for the last three years. Just embarrassed Vivian on the court. I remember watching the final match. Vivian was pissed after the loss. She was cussing and hollering. Broke her racket. Chewed out the umpire. It was kind of funny."
"Did she make any threats?"
"I seriously doubt Vivian Sawyer would shoot mom. I mean, she's a total snotty bitch, but it seems like a stretch."
JD backtracked. "How did your Dad meet Ivy?"
Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes. "She used to dance at Forbidden Fruit. The way things are going, I'm probably going to have an ex stripper as a stepmother."
7
Jack was distraught—it wasn't quite time for happy hour yet.
We were only a few blocks from Forbidden Fruit and Jack insisted we pay the adult establishment a visit—strictly for law enforcement purposes, of course.
We strolled down the sidewalk to the neon signage that had a figure of a dancing girl flickering between two different explicit positions. You couldn't really see the glow during the daylight, just a faint trace of neon in the tubes.
Jack flashed his badge as we passed the cashier. By this point in time, you could consider us regulars. The cashier didn't even bat an eye.
Colored spotlights slashed the hazy air, and exotic beauties twisted around chrome poles. Men stuffed dollar bills in G-strings, and taut bodies undulated in sublime ways. The place smelled like cheap perfume and watered-down whiskey.
The manager leaned against the bar, wearing a maroon suit and a black shirt. A gold chain dangled from his neck. His hair was slicked back. Jaco caught sight of us and strolled in our direction. A brilliant smile flashed on his face. "What can I do for you boys? Is this business or pleasure?"
"A little of both," Jack said.
"Anything for my law enforcement buddies," Jaco said with a gr
in.
He always took care of us. Jaco liked to stay on the good side of law enforcement. Any number of city officials could make his life a living hell if they decided to. If you looked hard enough, every business had some type of code violation. I didn’t know who, if anyone, was leaning on Jaco, but we weren't—and he seemed to appreciate that fact. A few free drinks here and there, and preferential treatment from the girls, was well worth it in his mind.
"Do you know Ivy Quinn?" I asked.
Jaco rolled his eyes. "That girl was a pain in my ass. I'm glad she doesn't work here anymore."
"How long ago did she quit?"
"About the time she found a sugar daddy."
"Chuck Carson?"
"Yeah, that's the guy. Used to be a regular. He doesn't come around anymore." Jaco thought about it for a moment. "Wait a minute... His wife was killed last night, wasn't she? You don't think Ivy had anything to do with that, do you?"
"Anything is possible," I said.
Jaco pondered things. "My first inclination is to say that Ivy would do anything for a buck. Maybe she got tired of playing second fiddle to Mrs. Carson?"
"Maybe," I said.
"I haven't seen her in months," Jaco said. "She might have a few friends that still work here. Like I said, Chuck doesn't come around anymore. As soon as they became an item, Ivy clamped down on that shit real quick. Didn't want anybody else stealing her meal ticket."
Jaco led us to a table, and we took a seat near the main stage.
"If there's anything else I can do for you, let me know. You boys enjoy your visit. I hope you find what you're looking for. First round is on the house." Jaco smiled and motioned for a waitress to attend to us.
A sultry vixen sauntered toward us, wearing spike-heeled shoes, fishnet stockings, and a rather skimpy version of a tuxedo with long coattails. "What can I get for you gentlemen?"
“Whiskey. Rocks," Jack said, motioning for two.
She spun around and sashayed away.
We watched the main attraction on stage. A cute little blonde made every man in the place envy the pole. The platinum beauty whirled around, performing acrobatic feats of erotic brilliance. She moved in mesmerizing ways. Every curve was a promise, every valley a temptation. Eyeballs were glued to her form.
