Conch Shell Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  *

  On Sunday Katie slept late, untroubled by the recurring nightmare which sometimes plagued her, the dream in which she relived the classroom-shooting scene. The thought of it made her shudder, but she came to life as her telephone rang. Before answering, she propped herself on one elbow and raised the window shade. The wind no longer howled, but the skies looked like molten lead.

  “Hope I didn’t wake you.” Diane’s voice greeted her. “But I know you haven’t had time to grocery shop, and we have a breakfast overload. I’m bringing you a tray.”

  “You’re a doll. I’m starving and the cupboard’s bare.”

  “Of course my generosity’s also a bribe.”

  “Unfair.”

  “I’m kidding. But I hope you like French toast with my own special guava syrup, bacon, scrambled eggs, cereal, milk, and orange juice.”

  “Really playing the Happy Homemaker to the hilt, aren’t you?” Katie laughed, but her mouth watered. “Did you think any more about taking the case?”

  “Yes. I had insomnia from thinking about it. But I still need to talk to Mac before we make a decision.”

  “We need you, Katie.”

  “Maybe less than you think.”

  *

  Diane brought the breakfast tray, then hurried off to join Randy and the kids for church. After eating with a gusto that threatened to add pounds, Katie stood before the mirrored armoire, studying her figure. No, she wasn’t fat. She remembered days at the orphanage when food had always been in short supply. The minute she had a job and left there, she indulged herself in fruit, meat, desserts. In a matter of only a few weeks, her weight had soared.

  This morning, once she finished eating, she drove to the Winn Dixie and laid in a supply of groceries. It took two trips up the stairs to get them all into her tiny kitchen. Then, as she drove to her office, Bubba appeared from a side street, looking like the inventor of sleaze.

  “Hey, Blondie. How about a lift to the beach?”

  He had to have been waiting for her, like a frog waiting for a fly. Why walk when good old Katie Hassworth provided free transportation? She pulled to the curb and stopped long enough for him to get in. His greasy hair hung around his shoulders, and the sun peeking through the clouds glinted on his ear stud. Today he wore his shirt tucked into his jeans and secured with a black rope. All that sartorial splendor to celebrate Sunday?

  She smiled at the thought as he sniffled.

  “I’d like to talk with you,” Katie said with feigned enthusiasm.

  “I’m heading for the beach.”

  “It’ll only take a minute or two.”

  “Money talk?”

  “Perhaps.” She drove a bit faster, reluctant to be seen with Bubba any longer than necessary. “Let’s go to my office.”

  “Let’s go to the beach. Talk goes better in sunshine and fresh air.”

  Katie agreed, but she drove to her office. “Business talk demands a business-like atmosphere.” She parked in the scant driveway, opened the office door, and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the stale cigarette odor. Sitting at her oak desk, she offered Bubba the straight chair.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Alexa Chitting was the `old biddy’ who was bumped off last Monday?”

  “I didn’t hear you offering any bread for the info. What gives? I see you got the scoop without my help.”

  “She was probably the wealthiest woman in Key West, and I happen to rent an apartment from her daughter. Diane wants me to investigate her mother’s death.”

  “And that’s where I come in?” Bubba grinned and jammed his hands more deeply into the pockets of his grimy jeans.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I hate that word and you use it a lot, Blondie. I’ve noticed that about you.”

  “‘Perhaps’ is better than ‘no,’ isn’t it?”

  “Not much.”

  “Want to forget the whole thing?” She used her schoolteacher voice. “I can do my own footwork, if necessary.”

  Bubba sighed. “You’re a hard woman, Blondie. What do you want to know?”

  “I haven’t taken the case for sure.”

  Bubba stood. “So I’m going to the beach. Once all the clouds scatter, it’s going to be a great day out there. You desk types ought to notice that now and then.”

  “Wait. The beach will still be there ten minutes from now.”

  Bubba slumped back into the chair as if his spine were made from cooked spaghetti. He sniffled again. “So what do you want to know?”

  “Have you heard any talk about the murder?”

  “Sure. Everyone’s talking about it. Or at least they were. It’s sort of old stuff by now.”

  “What were people saying?”

  “Depends on what people you mean. Police call it a drug-related robbery. They see enough of them. They oughta know.”

  “And what are others saying?”

  “That Mrs. Chitting was a grade-A bitch. That lots of good people out there hated her guts. That even her husband couldn’t stand her. Some suggest he might have offed her. Others guess it might have been her son-in-law. Or even her daughter. Mrs. Chitting must have been a real sweetie face.”

  “You paint a lovely picture.”

  “She a friend of yours?”

  “I didn’t know her.”

  “But this daughter, this Diane, she’s going to pay you to investigate, right?”

  “Maybe—if I take the case.”

  “Money talks.” Bubba smirked. “It can do strange things to people.”

  “No doubt you speak from experience.”

  Bubba shrugged. “What else do you want to know?”

  “Just the street talk about Alexa Chitting’s murder. What Tyler Parish does in his spare time. Any info about the Cayo Hueso housing project.”

  “Who’s Tyler Parish?”

  “A local artist. He rents space at a Simonton Street Loft.”

  “How much info you want?” Bubba wrinkled his forehead as if he were about to undertake a difficult and time-consuming undercover job.

  “About twenty dollars’ worth.”

  “Let’s see the twenty.”

  “When you produce, you’ll see it. I’m no pay-in-advance type.”

  “Nice talking with you, Blondie.”

  Bubba rose and left. Katie smiled at his departing back. He liked to leave the impression that he had been unfairly treated and was out of her life for good, but she knew he’d be back. His kind always returned to the source of easy money. And he might have some valuable information. He was street smart. He listened, and he managed to stay out of jail. At least he had those things going for him.

  After opening the mail that had stacked up, and finding mostly bills, Katie dialed Mac’s cell phone, but no answer.

  She decided to take Bubba’s advice and enjoy the outdoors and the day, but she didn’t head for Smathers Beach where she might have to concentrate on avoiding Bubba. Instead she drove back home, donned her swimsuit, and spread a beach towel beside the Dades’ private pool.

  She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, and she didn’t know how long she had been dozing, but she came fully awake with a start. She saw no movement and heard no sound, yet she sensed that someone had been watching her.

  SIX

  Katie jumped up, looking toward the street, but she saw nobody. Shivering as she clutched her beach towel around her, she hurried to the sidewalk and peered in both directions. Bubba. She thought the jeans-clad figure turning the corner was Bubba, but the androgyny of jeans and long hair made it quite possible that the person could be a girl. Why would Bubba have been watching her? Maybe he needed another ride somewhere. She scowled. Bubba gave her a pain. She tried to shrug off the incident, but after a few minutes of watching and waiting, she felt uneasy and went inside.

  Late Sunday afternoon she got in touch with Mac and as soon as they had exchanged a few pleasantries, she began to prod him for information. ”Why didn’t you tell me Alexa Chitting had been murdered?
’

  “I supposed you knew about it. It made the Herald. Did you stop reading the papers?”

  “My mind was on that forensic workshop and the reading it involved. I didn’t bother to pick up a paper.”

  “Diane didn’t call you?”

  “No. I wish she had, but…”

  “Sorry, Katie. If I’d known…”

  “Diane said you refused to take the case. Why? Have we suddenly outgrown our need for money?”

  “I was deep into the Gillian case and the Tallahassee files. There are some big bucks involved with the Gillians too, and I couldn’t be in two places at the same time. You were away and not due back for a few days and…”

  …and I didn’t think you could handle a murder investigation on your own. Mentally she finished his statement for him, irritated at his attitude, yet knowing he might be right.

  “I see.” She tried not to sound miffed.

  “I felt the police were handling the case adequately. That’s another reason I didn’t jump at the chance to take it on.”

  “Diane wants me to investigate for the family.”

  “Do it—if you think it merits an investigation. Did you know Diane’s parents?”

  “No. Alexa resented Diane’s renting the apartment to me and refused to meet me. I guess Po rubber-stamped Alexa’s decision. I’ve never met either of them.”

  “So here’s your chance to meet Po, if you’re interested.”

  “There are some singular circumstances involved in the murder.”

  “Take the case, Katie girl. We can always use the money. Some bucks blown on an investigation will mean little to the Chittings one way or the other.”

  “I wouldn’t agree to investigate just for the bucks. Diane’s my friend. She’s sharing her home with me.”

  “You’re still paying rent, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, but Diane and I care about each other and that makes a difference.”

  “Take the case. You won’t be satisfied unless you do. Grab it. Give it your best.”

  “All right. I’m going to, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But taking it is more than an obligation growing from friendship. I respect your opinion, yet the fact of the two wills intrigues me, and the choice of murder weapon pricks my curiosity.”

  “So you’re taking the case. Figure it all out.”

  “Who would try to settle a vendetta with a conch shell?”

  “Good question. Who would? It’s your challenge, Katie girl. See you in a week or so. You’ll have the murderer all wrapped and tied with a pink ribbon by then.”

  As Katie hung up, she felt Mac’s lack of enthusiasm, his doubt of her ability, and she also felt like an unprepared understudy suddenly thrust into the spotlight of center stage. But maybe this was her chance to prove herself to Mac, to Alexa’s family, and, more important, to herself.

  She gave Diane her decision later Sunday night, and on Monday morning Diane set up an appointment for them to talk with Samuel Addison, her mother’s lawyer. They arrived on Duval Street promptly at ten o’clock. A weathered-gray building housed the office and was set between an abandoned theater and a barbershop. A buzzer sounded as they entered a small room where potted palms and philodendrons caught the light that flooded through a plate glass window, giving the area a bright fishbowl effect.

  Katie thought the man in the cream-colored suit at the desk was Mr. Addison until he spoke.

  “Mrs. Dade and Miss Hassworth?”

  “Yes,” Diane said. “Is Mr. Addison in?”

  “Yes, of course. He’s expecting you.” The secretary rose and opened the door leading into a somber inner office where carpet and draperies the color of dust held the stench of cigar smoke. Gray file cabinets lined one wall and floor-to-ceiling bookcases comprised the other three. There were no windows. Mr. Addison reinforced Katie’s first impression of dreariness as he stepped toward them.

  “Come in, my ladies.”

  Surprised at his courtly manner and orotund voice, Katie studied the thin hawk of a man who stepped from behind his gray steel desk. Arthritis had disfigured his finger joints until shaking hands with him was like gripping Tinker Toys. She guessed him to be in his eighties, and his gray suit and string tie seemed color-coded to match his deep-set eyes and his complexion. One word flashed to her mind. Shrewd.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Addison. I’m sure Mrs. Dade has told you the nature of our business.”

  “Have seats, my ladies.” The man retreated to a squeaky swivel chair behind his desk and smiled at Diane. “Yes, Diane has told me you’re investigating her mother’s death. I’ve been the family lawyer for years and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” He turned slightly and the chair gave a protesting groan. “Alexa and I are…were both Conchs. We understood each other.”

  “I’ll appreciate your help,” Katie said.

  “I’ve told Katie of the two wills,” Diane said. “Now she needs to know more details.”

  “Right.” Mr. Addison cleared his throat and looked at Katie. “I’ll begin with Alexa’s first will. The bulk of her estate is to be divided between Diane and Po Chitting. Po has inherited the marina and approximately ten million dollars in other assets.”

  “And Diane?”

  “Diane inherits stocks and bonds valued at about fifteen million dollars. Of course, there are taxes to be figured. It will take me some time to reach a to-the-penny amount.”

  “That won’t be necessary for my purposes.” Katie tried to keep a calm expression although she found such amounts of money almost beyond her comprehension. “And Tyler Parish? Diane says he inherits a lump sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  “That’s correct,” Mr. Addison said.

  “He could live off the interest from a sum like that,” Diane said.

  “Perhaps.” Mr. Addison gave a thin chuckle. “The interest would never, however, allow him to live in the style he now enjoys.”

  “But the potential loss of such a sum might motivate a person to murder,” Katie said.

  “I prefer to avoid such speculation, but I do know that Parish’s paintings have been catching on with the public. He’s presented several shows around the country—Chicago, New York. His work is selling, though for many, his artistic expression remains numinous.”

  Feeling rebuked, Katie changed the subject. “Mary Bethel. I understand she’ll receive an annual stipend of fifty thousand dollars. Is that correct?”

  “It is,” Mr. Addison said.

  This time, although Katie kept her speculations to herself, she felt this shrewd old man could see into her thoughts and she found that disconcerting. “Mr. Addison, I understand that Mary was a devoted and competent secretary, but to receive such a stipend from an employer is most unusual. Do you know Miss Bethel’s age?”

  “I believe she’s around thirty-one.”

  “A young person,” Katie said. “If her life span matches that of the insurance charts, she will collect hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Do you know why Alexa Chitting was so generous to Mary?”

  He paused, glancing uneasily at Diane. “Yes. I’m privy to that information.”

  “And will you reveal it?”

  “Until now, it’s been a matter between me and Alexa. Since Diane has asked me to help you, I’ll detail the facts of Mary’s inheritance if Diane gives me permission.”

  “Of course,” Diane said, leaning forward in her chair.

  “I want the information to go no farther than the walls of this room.”

  “I’ll see that it doesn’t.” Katie sensed Diane’s sudden interest.

  “Alexa caused an accident about thirty years ago,” Mr. Addison said. “You are too young to remember it, Diane. In fact, I doubt if Alexa ever told you about it.”

  “So tell me now,” Diane said. “Surely I’ve a right to any and all information that concerns Mother’s will—and perhaps her
death.”

  “I’ll tell you the facts as I know them, my ladies. Alexa was at the wheel of a speedboat returning from a pleasure outing at Dry Tortugas. It was after dark and both she and Po had been drinking. Her speedboat crashed into the small fishing ketch Mary Bethel’s parents were in. Neither Alexa nor Po were seriously injured, but both of Mary’s parents died, leaving Mary orphaned at the age of one year.”

  “How terrible.” Stress roughened Diane’s voice.

  “Yes. Tragic,” Mr. Addison agreed. “There were no relatives to bring suit, and the Chittings, with my help, hushed up the details of the accident. Ever since that night, Alexa tried to expiate her crime.”

  “How?” Katie asked.

  “She provided money for Mary’s support in a foster home. At one time Mary was very ill with a high fever. Fact is, she was hospitalized for weeks and the doctors thought she might die. Alexa paid all her medical expenses. She also educated her in private schools and sent her to college. Later, she employed her at the marina at a wage few secretaries ever hope to receive.”

  “It seems strange that a college-educated woman would be content working as a secretary where chances of advancement were nonexistent,” Diane said.

  “Mary majored in journalism, but she dreamed of being a novelist. The secretarial job gave her an income while she freelanced her work.”

  “I know Mother catered to Mary concerning office hours,” Diane said. “She said that Mary did impeccable work, but I doubt that she ever put in a forty-hour week.”

  “So far she has seen little success as a novelist, although she does sell an article to magazines now and then.”

  Katie regretted causing Diane more grief and she tried to change the subject. “Is there anyone else who might have been affected by Alexa’s second will?”

  Mr. Addison lit a cigar, then looked at the ceiling for several moments before he replied. “I suppose Po’s lady friend would have hated to see all that money go to the Preservation Group.”

  “Po’s lady friend?” Katie asked. “Who…”

  “Her name?” Diane leaned forward again. “I didn’t know that Dad…her name?”