A Secondhand Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Funky, like an auto repair shop and something else, maybe dead frogs.”

  “I was in a trunk, you know. A damn trunk. You have no idea.” I felt the need to tell him everything I had encountered since I had left the diner, a kind of catharsis of angst over the evening’s events. Alex’s sympathetic face loosened my tongue, but before I could say much, he stopped me.

  “Uh, I have bad news for you.”

  I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “How bad can the news be? It can’t be worse than my brush with headline news. You know, tomorrows Post could have read: ‘Bright, sexy entrepreneur nabbed and fed to swamp inhabitants.’ ”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Sanders called in your kidnapping.”

  “Not what I expected, but that was nice of him. Seems like the least he could do after dragging me out there.”

  “Maybe not. He told the cops that he saw Jerry hit you over the head and throw you into his trunk.”

  Chapter 18

  “I don’t see why I can’t talk to Mr. Sanders. Jerry can’t be the one who hit me and dumped me in the swamp. Sanders must be mistaken.”

  Alex drove me back to the Sabal City Police Department. I sat across the desk from Frida. Her detecting buddy, Trevor Timble, was absent. I was glad for the privacy. Alex’s presence didn’t count. Apparently he was becoming a permanent fixture in my life, always showing up when bad things happened.

  “It’s police business and the West Palm cops are covering it. They believe Sanders, and that’s all there is to it. You stay out of it. I know you’ve been up to something. Why else would you have been at Sanders’ house at that hour?”

  I couldn’t tell her that I had been trying to rescue Jerry, or even why Jerry needed rescuing. But I didn’t believe that he was the one responsible for nabbing me. I would have known. I would have felt it.

  “I had to get another look at Sanders’ son to be sure he was the one I saw in the parking lot on the day of Valerie’s murder.”

  “Now, because you alerted him, we can’t find the son. Why can’t you let the cops do their work?” The pencil Frida was holding in her fingers snapped in two. I had pushed her too far.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get carried away and don’t think. It’s my impulsive nature, I guess. Really. You’re doing great work here.”

  Frida picked up the two halves of the pencil and threw them into the trashcan. She took a moment to center herself and release the tension before speaking again. “You know you’re making my job more difficult, don’t you?” she said, her voice much calmer. “Please stay out of this. Take a break, a vacation or something. You’ve had a rough couple of days.”

  “Now there’s a great idea.” Alex looked pleased. “A vacation.”

  “The shop—”

  “Madeleine can manage,” Alex broke in. “Maybe you could go to Key Largo with your Grandy when she returns. I’m sure she’d love to have you on the boat.”

  “That Jerry, trying to feed you to the alligators.” Grandy shook her curls. It was the next morning, and she was piloting her SUV south on the Florida Turnpike.

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “He’s a bad boy, but, no, he wouldn’t do that. I do think there’s something fishy about Sanders’ story. It looks like Valerie married into a family as bad as her own.”

  “It’s more likely that Sanders sent his stepson after me because I had placed him at the crime scene. But that seems kind of crazy, too. Unless he wanted his wife dead for some reason. This murder is making me nuts.” I leaned against the window and watched as we rushed past the stucco walls of wealthy homes.

  “The cops are looking for both Jerry and Sanders’ son. How long can they hide?” Grandy set the cruise control and rested one hand on the wheel, the other on her knee.

  My cell played its tune. It was Frida.

  “Tell your Grandy she was right,” Frida said when I picked up the phone.

  “About what?”

  “We executed the search warrant for the Sanders’ house. She’ll know what I mean.” The line disconnected.

  “Frida says you were right. About what?”

  “That knife. I got a good look at the set of knives when we entered the Sanders’ house.”

  “Yeah, I remember. I thought you were going to kiss them, you were so close.”

  “One didn’t match. It looked like it did, at first, but it was much cheaper. I think that was the one from your shop. Someone must have placed it there in case the cops came looking for an incomplete set. I’ve got a good eye for cutlery, and I know the wealthy would never consider buying anything but the best. Carbon steel. One of them was stainless. Now all they need to do is compare the murder weapon in the evidence locker to the Sanders’ carbon steel knives.”

  I slapped my knee. “Ha! I knew there was something different about the murder weapon, and that if I could just get into that house to look at those knives, well, something would click. It did.”

  Grandy glanced at me. “Honey, something clicked for me, not you.”

  “Me. You. Whatever. You didn’t tell Frida how you knew all this?”

  Grandy chuckled. “I told her I found out from one of the Sanders’ help, and that I had to keep my source anonymous or the person could get fired. Frida doesn’t need to know the details. The cops are looking at the real evidence now.”

  “You’re so smart.” I reached over and patted her arm.

  “Well, you are too, in a way. It was dumb of you to go back to the house for another peek at the stepson, but your ability to identify him led to the search warrant. The knife clinched the deal. Now he’s wanted for murder.”

  “Frida said he wouldn’t have run if I hadn’t showed up on the doorstep.”

  “Maybe,” said Grandy. “Stop for a bite?” We flew by a sign announcing a rest area ahead.

  “Let’s just get to Key Largo. I want to sit on the boat’s deck and soak up the sunshine.”

  For the first time since Valerie’s murder, I felt at peace. Well, almost. Jerry’s role in all this bothered me. After leaving Frida last night, I had taken a quick look at the papers he had thrown to me. Based on what I’d read so far, Jerry had sold me out again. This morning I had tucked them into my overnight bag, vowing to find time to examine them in more detail once we got to Key Largo.

  The boat was riding up and down on her lines and the rain was slashing at the windows in the galley. You could get quite comfortable inside if you had the stomach for rolling and pitching. I did. Our family had always owned some kind of boat, motor or sail, and I was used to rough weather on any vessel, as long as it was bigger than an inner tube.

  Max was up on deck making sure that the lines were secure so that we could leave for dinner.

  “Sorry about this weather, dearie,” said Grandy. “I guess you won’t be getting a tan this weekend.”

  Record cold was being predicted for tomorrow. I had managed to select one of the Key’s few chilly weekends for my vacation. I didn’t care about cold, wind and rain. I just welcomed being surrounded by people I loved and who felt the same about me. Not that Madeleine and I didn’t love each other. We were the best of friends, almost like sisters, but Grandy had been there all my life, through some very tough periods.

  “I’ll be down another time when I can soak up some sun. For now, I’m just happy to be here with you and Max. We haven’t had family time for so long.”

  The boat was small compared to many of the local charters. There was one head, a small galley, and three cabins—two in the bow and a larger one, occupied by Grandy and Max, in the stern. I took the one on the left of the companionway ladder. The room barely had enough space to turn around in, even if you were careful to tuck your arms to your sides. I stashed my overnight bag under the berth, then, thinking twice about the action, pulled it out again to extract the papers that Jerry had given me. I wanted to take another look at them before we departed for the local eatery.

  The only way to read in the small room was
to lie down on the bed, so I lowered myself onto the firm mattress and turned on the small light above my pillow. By the time I had digested the contents of the documents, my suspicions had been confirmed. I wanted to join the manhunt for Jerry, and I hoped that I’d find him before the cops did. When I did, I wanted to shake him silly, then kill him. My murderous fantasy was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Grandy’s voice.

  “Let’s go, sweetie. You know there’ll be a line, and I’m starving.”

  I placed the papers under my pillow and turned off the light. Through the port window I could see only rain and palm trees bending in the wind. Where’s Jerry? It would have been a fine night for his murder.

  When I opened the door, Grandy looked at my face and scowled. “This is supposed to be a vacation. I know the weather is rotten, but you look like you have your own storm brewing inside. What’s up?”

  There was no sense in making Max and Grandy pay for Jerry’s actions. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just letting this cold get me down.” Grandy didn’t believe me. She threw me one of her ‘You’re lying’ looks.

  “We’ll talk over food.” She took my arm and pushed me toward the companionway. “Take one of those rain slickers on your right. You’ll need it.”

  The three of us arrived at the restaurant looking like Cape Cod fisherman in our yellow raingear. The locals in the place hardly glanced in our direction. We clearly belonged there.

  The tourists entered with their best tropical wear beaten by wind and rain, their Jam’s World regalia so limp and weather-beaten that it had lost all its resale value. I felt sorry for them. This wasn’t the weather that they had packed for. Some of them had obviously wised up and purchased sweatshirts and jackets from the local merchants with “Key Largo” logos.

  Family Kitchen, the restaurant we chose for dinner, was frequented by Key Largo residents and occasionally discovered by tourists. It had atmosphere, but not the kind usually associated with Keys dining. There was no sandy beach seating where one could sit outside and listen to the wind in the palms. Oh, you could eat outside if you wanted, but you had to do so under an aluminum overhang within inches of the gravel parking lot, where the insistent roar of automobiles racing down Highway 1 would interfere with intimate conversation.

  Inside, the two small dining areas were filled with cracked vinyl booths, mismatched chairs and wooden tabletops that had been marked by the initials of many impatient diners. The entrance to the dining rooms was partially blocked by a large bar and the double-hinged doors of a tiny kitchen. You could either put your name on the waiting list or hover at the crowded bar, where you were almost guaranteed to touch butts with an eager stranger trying to push through to the counter.

  The food was that good.

  A table opened up and an employee yelled Max’s name. We ran over, and Max waved away the menus the waitress offered.

  “There’s only one dish to order here for dinner. Fried whole yellowtail. Three.” He held up as many fingers. Grandy and I nodded our agreement.

  This was where we ate every time we were in Key Largo. You could find fine gourmet dining, but this was just great eats. We drank local ale with dinner and ate with little conversation until I pushed away my empty plate, sat back in my chair and sighed. I was relieved that Grandy was as swept up in her food as I had been. I wasn’t eager to talk about my mood, since Jerry was the cause of it. I wasn’t off the hook yet.

  “There’s a lull in the storm,” Max observed. “Quieter.”

  The hot food and the ever-growing number of patrons in the small dining area were creating enough warmth to chase away the damp and cold. Our abandoned slickers lay in a shiny vinyl heap on an empty chair. Max swallowed the last of his beer and, seeing that the two of us were finished as well, ordered another round. Extracting a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped perspiration off his sunburned brow and cheeks. He really did look like Hemingway—well, at least like a computer-aged version.

  The waitress set three full bottles on the table.

  Grandy ignored hers and skewered me with one of her ’fess up looks. “Now. Tell.”

  “Uh oh, sounds serious,” said Max.

  “Something’s aggravating Eve. She doesn’t look happy. What do you think, Max?”

  “Maybe the weather’s getting her down. It certainly doesn’t make for that sunny vacation we promised her.”

  Two pairs of eyes fixed on me without wavering. They were kind and friendly, and I knew I couldn’t lie to them. I took a quick sip of beer.

  “It’s Jerry.”

  “It’s always Jerry,” Grandy said. Max nodded in agreement.

  “When I went back to Sanders’ house, I saw him inside the study with a gun in his hand. He opened the window and shoved some papers at me. Now I know why he was so interested in getting into that house and why Napolitani let him wander off while we were examining the knife.”

  “Napolitani was in on this?” asked Grandy.

  “Yep, I think so.”

  Max reached out and patted my hand. “It’s okay, honey. You can tell us. We know you’ve got a soft spot for Jerry.”

  I exploded. “Soft spot? Don’t be silly. Jerry and me, that’s water under the bridge, especially since he signed away all of our assets, the idiot.”

  “He did what?” asked Grandy.

  “He sold the house in Connecticut, the sailboat, his condo in the Bahamas and the Jag to Sanders. Oh sure, they were his to sell. His name was on those properties, but our divorce agreement stipulates that he owes me a percentage of the sale value, and he sold them to Sanders for peanuts. Now why’d he do that?”

  “It’s simple. If it’s only a percentage of the value and not a fixed amount that he owes you, it means he won’t have to pay you much. A typical Jerry move.” Grandy moved her bottle around and around, creating a pattern of wet circles on the table.

  “I don’t think so. Something else is up. He gave me the papers for safekeeping. He had to know I’d look at them. It was some kind of message, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out.”

  They looked first at me then at each other, expressing pain and sympathy. “You need to get over that man.”

  Max nodded. “Maybe, because you signed those papers without a lawyer, something can be done to alter the terms of the divorce.”

  “Maybe.” My mind was somewhere else. Jerry couldn’t be as bad as recent evidence was making him out to be. If only I could talk to him.

  Chapter 19

  The wind caught our raincoats and whipped them around our knees as we ran from the restaurant to the car.

  “She’s not letting up any.” Max unlocked the car doors, and we slid into the warmth of the interior.

  From the passenger seat, Grandy twisted around to talk to me. The beads of water in her white hair twinkled in the parking lot lights like dew on a foggy morning.

  “I hope you won’t think I’m being nosy,” she said, “but I’d sure like to see those papers Jerry gave you.”

  “Sure. Why not? Maybe you and Max can tell me what I’m not seeing.” I leaned back into my seat and watched the halos of light pass by my window.

  We dashed from the car to the boat, crowding down the companionway and into the small galley.

  “I’ll make coffee.” Grandy grabbed the old aluminum drip pot from the overhead cupboard. “You fetch those papers.”

  I hung my slicker back on its hook and entered my cabin. When I moved the pillow aside, I found my hiding place empty. A quick search of the bed and the small storage space below revealed nothing. I was more than a little creeped out. Who had gotten in, and why would they take those papers?

  I stuck my head out of the cabin. “They’re gone. Somebody took them while we were at dinner.”

  “I locked the hatch door. How could anybody get in here without a key?” asked Max.

  I thought immediately of Mr. Napolitani and his expertise with locks. My eyes met those of Grandy, and I knew she was thinking the same thing.
r />   “We were followed,” I said. “I’ll bet Jerry has those papers back in his possession.”

  “Helped by a future relative.” Grandy slapped the pot lid closed and placed it on the stove.

  “I guess for Napolitani, family is everything.” I sank into the gallery bench seat.

  “Look, girls,” Max slid in beside me, “we’re all tired from the day and the weather. We can talk this through tomorrow. Let’s just get a good night’s sleep.”

  “After coffee,” said Grandy.

  “I’ll pass. I’m too bummed out and exhausted to stay on my feet another minute. I’m going to make friends with my berth.” I kissed both of them goodnight and entered my cabin. I’d just turned off the overhead light when my new cell rang.

  I hit the answer button. Hard. “This better be important, like natural disaster important.”

  “It’s Jerry.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whenever I feel like I’ve bottomed out, you show up and make things worse. Go away.”

  “Okay.”

  “No. Wait. First tell me why you took those papers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sat up in the bed and switched on the light, as if illumination might help me deal with my aggravating ex-husband.

  “I know what was in them, and I don’t appreciate having our divorce settlement taken away so easily.”

  “That’s the whole point, Evie. The property sales were never registered. I’ve got the only existing copies.”

  “How was I supposed to know what you had in mind? Anyway, you gave them to me, yet you didn’t trust me enough so you had to break into my Grandy’s boat and steal them. Napolitani helped you, didn’t he?” I slammed my pillow across the small cabin in frustration.

  “Are you saying you don’t have them anymore, that someone stole them?”

  “You. You took them.” Now I was yelling into the phone, my voice loud enough to alert Grandy and Max. I hesitated. “You did steal them, didn’t you?”