Conch Shell Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  “Follow me. I’ll get the papers for you.”

  She followed the page to a reading table, sat down, and waited. Presently, the woman returned, stacking a pile of newspapers on the table beside her.

  “Here you are, Ma’am. Let me know if you need more. We have many older issues on tape.”

  Katie thanked the woman and began perusing front-page headlines, beginning with the Tuesday following Alexa’s murder. WEALTHY BUSINESSWOMAN SLAIN. Smaller print gave the who, when, and where details, along with police speculation that robbery had been the motive for the murder. The article then hilighted Alexa’s contributions to the community and the financial success of Chitting Marina under her astute management.

  She read that the medical examiner placed the time of Alexa’s death early in the evening—between eight and ten o’clock. Strange, Katie thought. Surely there must have been some activity around the marina at that time. True dark fell before seven o’ clock, and most boats would have been in their slips by then, but sometimes people remained aboard their crafts, entertaining guests or merely engaging in their daily routines. Surely someone must have seen or heard something unusual that night.

  Rubbing her eyes, she continued reading, focusing on columns that contained the ongoing story of the Cayo Hueso housing development. Each article recapped previous information, and gradually she got the total picture, which matched the facts Rex had told her the evening before. She stacked the papers neatly and sat thinking until the page approached.

  “Do you need anything else, Ma’am?”

  “Have you any information on the salt ponds?”

  “I’m sure there’s material on that subject in the Florida Room. Miss Glockner will help you back there.”

  Katie glanced at her watch. “I haven’t time to look up material right now. Could you give me general information? I’ve lived here about two years, but I’ve been unaware of any salt ponds.”

  “I’m no historian, but I do know that in early island days the settlers trapped sea water in man-made ponds and through a process of evaporation made salt. At the time it was a needed and profitable business, but as the island developed, other enterprises proved more lucrative, and workers eventually abandoned the salt ponds.”

  “And now they’re considered of historic interest?”

  “Right. The Preservation Group’s trying to protect what’s left of them, and the area does provide a wildlife sanctuary, although my grandfather says he sees more birds and alligators on the golf course than he’s ever seen at the salt ponds.”

  “Opinions differ.” Katie thanked the woman and left the library, driving through the chilly morning to her office. On Simonton Street a dank wind whipped red and lavender bougainvillea blossoms against picket fences and bent scarlet hibiscus and golden alamanda bushes to the ground. She shivered as she coaxed her convertible through the congested traffic. When cold fronts kept visitors off the beaches, they took to their vans, driving endlessly around the small island. Too bad the founding fathers hadn’t foreseen the tourist season and provided wider streets.

  Once in her office, Katie opened the windows as she did every morning in a vain attempt to vanquish the stale smoke odor. Some days she floated a gardenia blossom on her desk to freshen the room, but she hadn’t taken time to do that this morning.

  “Hi, Blondie.” Bubba stepped into her office, sniffling as he lowered himself onto the straight-backed chair without invitation. With his grubby jeans he wore a red gingham shirt, minus buttons and knotted at the waist. Katie wondered if he had ever shaved. Or had a haircut. As a little boy, had his mother hauled him to the barber on a biweekly basis? The thought boggled her imagination.

  “Good morning, Bubba. You’re out and about early.”

  “Got info for you.”

  “I hear you also had info for Mayor Layton.”

  “Got to keep on the good side of the law.”

  Noting his obsequious tone, she automatically used her schoolteacher voice. “Mayor Layton’s hardly the law:’

  “His money’s good with me. What do you care that I told him you were on the Chitting case? He would have found out sooner or later. Don’t really know why he thought it important enough to shell out cash.”

  She wondered the same thing. Maybe, like herself, Rex sometimes paid for chaff in hope of getting grain in the next harvest.

  “I was just lucky enough to get to the good mayor first.”

  “I’ll guard my words more carefully in the future.” She continued moving papers about on her desk, wondering what information Bubba had, yet hiding her eagerness to hear it.

  “Needn’t get on your high horse, Blondie. Now if I worked exclusively for you, it would be different. There’d be no leaks. You’d have first shot at anything I learned. Of course, the price would go up.”

  “Maybe I can no longer afford you.”

  “Oh, come on! A wealthy detective like you? Give me a break. You want to hear what I know or not?”

  “I want to hear.” She hated being in the position of pandering to his laziness and greed. “What’s it going to cost me?”

  “A twenty. We already decided on that.”

  “How do I know your info’s worth that?”

  “We all have to take chances in this life. This is one of yours.”

  “Your scoop better be worth the bucks. If not, you may have trouble peddling your next load.”

  “It’s worth it. Would I lie to you?”

  “Would you?” She looked him in the eye as she pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her billfold and slapped it on the table, keeping her forefinger on Andrew Jackson’s nose. “Give.”

  Bubba relaxed, as if to begin a long story, but he kept his gaze on the money. “Been thinking back to the night someone offed Alexa Chitting. Been searching through my mind.”

  She thought the area might be virtually uncongested, but she waited for him to continue.

  “That night I took a stroll. I do that sometimes, you know. Stroll and think. Stroll and think. Well, that night I was strolling along Houseboat Row and I passed Po Chitting. It was before ten o’ clock.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  He reached for the twenty, but she held it to the desk. “That bit of trivia is supposed to be worth a twenty?”

  “I think so. You might find it worth even more than that if you ask yourself why Po Chitting would be interested in those crummy boats along Houseboat Row. Do you think that’s where he told the police he was the night of the murder? I’m guessing he told them he was home alone. Isn’t that what suspects say when they have no alibi?”

  “You’ve been reading too many detective novels.” Katie relinquished the twenty and Bubba pocketed it. “Have you given the police this information?”

  “Hell no.” Bubba sniffled. “Don’t need any truck with police…” He nodded toward a man approaching the office. “Here he comes now.”

  Bubba stood and slipped into the hallway as Po Chitting entered Katie’s office.

  TEN

  Porter Chitting slouched his lanky frame through the doorway, ducking his head to keep from hitting it on the doorjamb as he entered Katie’s office. He looked at the chair Bubba had just vacated as if he would like to wipe it off before sitting on it in his white designer slacks, but he didn’t. Instead, he dropped his cold pipe into the pocket of his navy blazer and smiled. Katie counted the blazer buttons. All present. Crazy thought. Po probably owned dozens of blazers.

  “Name’s Po Chitting.” He extended his tanned hand and Katie shook it, smelling the telltale fragrance of lime aftershave. In spite of his natty clothing, Po projected a comfortable old-shoe quality that put Katie at ease, but his slouching manner belied his strong grip. She felt her ring dig into her finger. His smile, his clear eyes, his clean-shaven face, all gave him the look of a man who was taking his bereavement in stride.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Chitting. Do sit down. Of course, I feel as if I already know yo
u because Diane speaks of you often. I’m her third-floor renter.”

  Po chuckled. “I know all about Diane’s rental apartment. Drove her mother crazy. Alexa grew livid just thinking about it. Not the Chitting style to let out rooms to strangers.”

  When he smiled, Po’s violet-colored eyes crinkled at the corners, accenting his silver hair. Katie squelched a smile. Romance heroines were supposed to have violet-colored eyes, not wealthy pseudo-novelists who displayed more knowledge about fashionable clothes and yachts than about word processors and editorial deadlines.

  “I’m no longer a stranger. During the time I’ve lived with the Dades, Diane and I have become friends.”

  “So you and Diane are friends.” Po shrugged. “Fine. I like your style, Katie Hassworth. I’m pleased that you’re investigating Alexa’s murder and I’ve come to give you a retainer unless Diane’s already done so.”

  “No. We haven’t discussed money.”

  “Very unbusiness-like of you. What’s your fee for all this nosey-poking?”

  “Nosey-poking?” Katie laughed at the old-fashioned term she hadn’t heard or used in ages.

  “Will five grand keep you on the job for a while?”

  “That’s very generous, Mr. Chitting.”

  “Po. My friends all call me Po. And we are going to be friends, aren’t we?”

  “I hope so, Mr.…Po.” Katie found it hard to look Po in the eye because his gaze strayed around the room. “Five thousand will buy you about ten days, since my per diem fee is five hundred plus expenses.”

  “Bubba one of your expenses?”

  “Sometimes.” She waited for his objection, but none came.

  “A person gleans information from whatever sources are available, I suppose. The police might have been more effective if they’d recruited Bubba for their team.”

  “You think they did a slipshod job?”

  “Right. Otherwise, the killer would be in the slammer instead of at large.”

  “Many times making an arrest is a difficult thing. The police obviously felt they needed more evidence.”

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting to question me sometime soon.”

  “Yes. I intend to interrogate all of Alexa’s family and close associates. I know that’ll involve a lot of people.” She looked at Po’s slender, well-manicured hands. Could they have wielded that conch shell?

  “The spouse usually rates the prime spot on the suspect list from what I hear,” Po said.

  “Sometimes, but not always. The person who finds the body also draws major interest.”

  “Little Mary Bethel? I have a hard time picturing her as a killer. She’s been almost like one of the family for years. You suspect Mary?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said that the person who finds the body is of major interest. Mary stood to profit from the existing will, didn’t she? Maybe she found working as a secretary tedious.”

  “What makes you think she hated her job? Little Mary always seemed content working for Alexa. They were devoted to each other.”

  Little Mary? Why the diminutive? Did he think of her as a daughter? He didn’t call Diane Little Diane. “I didn’t say I thought Mary hated her job. I said maybe she found it tedious. Maybe. Detectives use that word a lot.”

  “Smart of them.”

  “As Alexa’s secretary, Mary had access to both wills, since they were filed in Alexa’s office as well as in the attorney’s office. She knew that on Alexa’s death she would inherit generous annual payments. Maybe she disliked the thought of losing that money.”

  “Nobody likes losing money.”

  “Maybe she wanted more time to devote to her writing.”

  Po flushed and looked at his left toe. “The fact that the old will is in effect certainly adds two more names to the suspect list—Rex Layton and Elizabeth Wright. Either of those two would have hated to see the Chitting money go to the Preservation Group.”

  “I can understand why you consider Mayor Layton a suspect. As long as most of the Chitting money stayed in the family, it wouldn’t be used to fight the Cayo Hueso development he supported.”

  “Correct.” Po stared at his right toe.

  “But Elizabeth Wright? I don’t understand. She had changed her mind about supporting Cayo Hueso, and at the time of Alexa’s death, she seemed to be on the side of the Preservation Group.”

  “Not so.”

  “But she cited reasons why the project would be unsuitable for the salt pond area. Seems to me she would have favored the new will and that she wanted to be an ally of the Preservation Group.”

  “She played games,” Po said. “First she was for Cayo Hueso, then she was dead against it, and then…”

  “She changed her mind again?”

  “Yes. The last word I heard was that she again proposed placing the housing development in the salt pond area. However, I don’t think any papers have been signed. The second will might have given her lots of trouble.”

  Katie hid her surprise, realizing that she hadn’t read far enough in the news articles. She made a mental note to check them again. And why hadn’t Rex mentioned Elizabeth’s second change of mind? She tried to recall their dinner conversation. Maybe she hadn’t given him time. She was the one who had tried to divert the talk from the murder. If Po was right, there might be complicities involved that could have a bearing on Alexa’s murder.

  “I’ve seen politics at work, Po. Many final decisions are based on compromises. I’ll delve more deeply into the facts surrounding the Cayo Hueso project.”

  “Good idea.” Po slouched against the hard back of the chair. Then he leaned forward, pulled a checkbook from his blazer pocket, and wrote Katie a retainer.

  “Care to tell me why you consider Elizabeth a suspect?” Katie asked.

  Po pocketed the checkbook. “Better talk to Layton about it. That’s my advice. She lined up on his side at the start—gung ho for the housing project. To see it a successful actuality would probably have meant a promotion for her—a governor’s appointment to a higher paying job, I suppose. You know how that sort of thing works. Honor, glory, and more money, plus a step up on the career ladder.”

  She nodded. “On the Monday of Alexa’s death, Elizabeth Wright was against the housing project. Alexa’s new will would also have worked against Cayo Hueso. I can’t see why or how Alexa’s death could have benefited Miss Wright.”

  “It’s a puzzle,” Po said.

  “But then…if Elizabeth finally decided to support the project…the situation leaves some questions unanswered.”

  “I think so. You may find my opinion self-serving, but I have a gut feeling that there’s something hidden in that Cayo Hueso situation that needs your attention.”

  “I intend to study the Cayo Hueso development thoroughly.”

  “Maybe Rex and Liz had a lover’s spat that made her threaten to block the project. Maybe Elizabeth held her right to veto over Rex’s head as a threat in order to get her own way about something. I can’t figure it out. You’re the detective. Think about it. That’s what I’m paying you for.”

  “I’ll do that. It’s a promise.”

  “A woman scorned may do strange things.”

  “A woman scorned?”

  Po chuckled and looked directly at her for the first time. “Rex’s quite a man about town, you know. He and Elizabeth saw a lot of each other for a while. You might want to check into what cooled that romance. When a relationship goes on the rocks, the rocks are usually in the bed. Maybe she changed her mind once too often. Sometimes a man needs to know exactly where he stands with a woman.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Katie tried to show insouciance toward Rex’s love life. She wished she could say his choice of lady friends failed to interest her, but not so. They interested her both personally and professionally.

  “Heard you had dinner at Louie’s Back Yard last night.” Again Po met her gaze.

  “Is Bubba working for you, too?” Katie kept her voice light, but she res
ented Po’s intrusion into her private life. Or maybe one had no private life in the pseudo-paradise of this island. She would have to be more discreet.

  “No, Bubba isn’t working for me. Maybe I should hire him, at that.” Po stood, making a big effort to organize his bones into an upright position. “I do want to see Alexa’s killer brought to justice.”

  Katie dropped Po’s check into her desk drawer. “I’ll do my best to make that a reality. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Po pulled his cold pipe from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth before leaving the office. Katie stood at the window watching his departure and she was about to return to her desk when she noticed a yellow Volkswagen driving slowly past. A burly man sat at the wheel and his scraggly red hair and full beard held her attention as he stared at the McCartel/Hassworth office. For a moment she thought he was going to stop and park at the curb in the slot marked “clients only,” but he drove on. She smiled. The guy had looked like a whale wedged into a sardine can.

  Flies had left specks on the window, and she dampened a paper towel to clean the glass. She had almost forgotten the man in the VW until she noticed him drive past the office again, again peering toward the building. For an instant their glances met, but he looked away quickly as he sped on down the street and out of sight.

  She tried to place the man. Had she seen him before? A client? That hair was unique. Surely she would have remembered if they had met before. And the yellow VW? Did she know anyone who drove that kind of car?

  She shrugged as she dropped the paper towel into the wastebasket. Maybe he was one of Mac’s acquaintances, perhaps a chauvinist who would approach the office only if he was sure Mac was in and he wouldn’t have to deal with some skirt.

  She had work to do, but she stood at the window, waiting, keeping the jute drapery between herself and the glass. She saw the car pass the office two more times before she left to meet Beck for lunch.

  ELEVEN

  It was almost two o’clock when Katie approached the sprawling Queen Anne mansion next door to the Dades’ residence. A Conch Train filled with tourists sounded its strident whistle, and Katie pulled over to let the long yellow and black vehicle pass before she parked in front of Beck Dixon’s tearoom.