“What would you have done had the new will been implemented?”
Suddenly Po suffered a paroxysm of coughing. When he recovered, he flushed and slouched more deeply into his chair. “You mean how would I survive without Alexa’s money? Frankly, I don’t know.” He stared at the aquarium. “It might have forced me to get a job, to do something worthwhile for a change.”
“Perhaps you would have finished your book.”
“Perhaps. But the sale of a novel by an unknown writer seldom puts much bread on his table. Oh, I had a big motive for killing Alexa. Perhaps several motives. But the fact remains, I didn’t do it. And I want you to find out who did.”
“Police found a button from your jacket near Alexa’s body.” She let the statement hang between them, listening to the aquarium filter bubble in the silence until he responded.
“Yes. That’s true. That morning when Alexa and I had breakfast, she saw the button dangling from my sleeve and she pulled it off. I hadn’t noticed it, but there was another button missing, too. I’d bought the jacket in Rome, and the buttons were distinctive. Alexa kept the button she’d removed and said she’d see about ordering replacements.”
Katie nodded. “Po, who do you think might be guilty?”
“Someone who profited by her will, of course. To my way of thinking, it’s just a matter of finding out whom. That’s your job.” He chuckled.
“Something’s funny?”
“Yes. Definitely funny. Here I am paying you to ask me questions that could land me in jail—or worse.”
“Where were you on Monday night a week ago?”
“At Captain Tony’s Saloon. Lots of friends can vouch for that.”
“Do you spend many evenings there?”
“I spend most of my evenings out—usually at a bar. Sloppy Joe’s. Two Friends. Pier House. But on that Monday I hung out at Captain Tony’s because he has a fireplace. A cold front passed through on that night, and lots of locals and tourists warmed their buns around Tony’s hearth.”
“You say you’ve friends who can vouch for your presence?”
“Right. There’s Jib Persky, for one. The bartender. He knows I was there and I think he’ll remember the night because the day had been so hot. Why, I’d taken my grandkids swimming at Smathers Beach that afternoon. Jib will remember the day—and the night.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because he usually has to hire extra help when a real norther hits and the thin blooded locals head for Tony’s.”
“Who else will remember your presence at the bar that night?”
“Dwight Chalmers. Red Worthington. Spike Daters. They’re all steadies.”
“And they were all there the whole evening?”
“Well, they were there a good part of the evening. I left around midnight.”
“Then the only person who was there the whole time you were there was the bartender, Jib Persky.”
“I guess that’s right. You talk to him. He’ll back me up.”
“Thank you for your time, Po.” She rose. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“Katie?” Po remained seated.
She paused, sensing a new intimacy in his tone. “Yes?”
“There’s something you need to know.”
“There’s a lot I need to know.” She sat back down, waiting.
Po folded his arms on the edge of his desk and leaned forward. “On the Friday before her death, Alexa withdrew a hundred thousand dollars from her bank account.”
“A hundred thou!”
“Right. In cash. Nobody knows where it went—where it is.”
“Who else is aware of this?”
“Diane. Randy. Addison. The bank.”
“Mary Bethel?”
“We don’t know. If she knew about it, she never mentioned it.”
“Why didn’t someone tell me sooner?” She felt her face grow hot, but she controlled her anger. “If I’m to investigate for you, you’re going to have to level with me—about everything.”
“We talked it over—Diane, Randy, and I. We were trying to be discreet. We thought whoever had the money might accidentally reveal himself if nobody was nosing around, putting him on guard. But now I think it’s time you knew this—for all it’s worth.”
“Have you checked at the local banks to see if anyone made a big deposit?”
“I know the bank presidents and I’ve checked with them. They have to report large deposits to the IRS. They say there were none.”
“Could she have hidden the money somewhere?”
“I suppose so. But where? And why? Think about it.” They both stood and Po walked her to the door.
*
Katie returned to her office, her mind a muddle. A hundred thou withdrawn from Alexa’s account and she was just now finding out about it! How could she solve a murder if she didn’t have all the facts? What else was the family keeping from her?
Where was that hundred thou now?
The fact that a neighbor saw a shadow and heard a radio playing wasn’t enough to free Mary Bethel from suspicion, nor did Po’s alibi carry much weight. Of course, maybe he talked the whole evening with Jib Persky. That was possible, but not probable.
Could Bubba have been mistaken about seeing Po that night on Houseboat Row? She also thought of Rex’s alibi, knowing she would have to talk to Attorney Addison again. The missing hundred thousand added a new dimension to the case. It was time to do some in-depth checking on alibis. But not today.
FOURTEEN
Katie returned to her office to jot down more comments on the Chitting case, to review the notes from the previous two days, to think about the facts she had gleaned. About five o’clock she made out her day’s time sheet, then telephoned Samuel Addison.
“Yes, Miss Hassworth?”
“Rex Layton says he presided at the city council meeting the night Alexa Chitting was killed. True?”
“Yes, indeed. Rex presided.”
“And he never left the council room?”
“Not until the meeting adjourned around eleven o’clock”
“Diane was present all evening, too?”
“Correct.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Call again if I can help.”
It surprised her to realize how pleased she was to know that Rex had an irrefutable alibi, but she deplored her lack of insight concerning the killer’s identity and hoped she hadn’t overlooked some obvious clue that would have led a more experienced detective straight to the murderer’s door.
At five thirty she entered the front of the Dade mansion as Randy bounded into the kitchen. Lex and Tracy left the family room TV to rush to the kitchen and give their dad a hug.
Katie smiled at Randy as they met near the stairway in the foyer. “Good day on the flats?”
“A grand slam day. Tarpon. Permit. Bonefish. The big three.” He grinned and polished his blackened piece of eight against his sweatshirt in a childlike tribute to his good luck.
“Will you join us for supper?” Diane stepped through the kitchen doorway. “Conch chowder, salad, and garlic bread. I’ve made enough for everyone and I’d like to hear how you’re coming with the case.”
“Thanks for the invite, but no. I’ve questioned lots of people today and I really need quiet time to consider and reconsider their answers. Rain check?”
“Sure.”
Katie looked back at Randy. “Since fishing’s so good, could I book a day?”
“Gotcha.” He tightened the leather thong holding his hair off his shoulders. “When’ll it be?”
“How about day after tomorrow?”
“Thursday?” He shook his head. “Look, I know you need to question me about Alexa, but you needn’t buy a day on the Lady Di. Want to rap after dinner?”
“Thanks, but I really do need some thinking and note-jotting time before I make more queries. And I’d enjoy a day’s fishing. Or even a half-day if you’re pushed for time. Are you booked all day
Thursday?”
“Yep. Sorry. A regular customer comes down on that date every year. It’s his birthday. He thinks it’s lucky.”
“And is it?”
“Sometimes. But he’s a good fisherman. The good ones make their own luck. How about tomorrow? It’s supposed to be cloudy and cool, but no wind. I could take you out in the morning if you really want to go.”
“Deal. Could we make it a half-day?”
“Gotcha.”
“Diane, how about coming along? I’ll pack a lunch and we’ll make an outing of it.”
“Sounds good. Haven’t been out on my namesake in ages.”
“We’ll cast off from the Stock Island Marina around eight,” Randy said. “But I’ll have to leave here about seven thirty. You can ride to the marina with me if you don’t mind waiting while I rig up.”
“Fine,” Katie said. “No use taking up two parking slots in that crowded area.” She wondered if Randy would patronize the Chitting Marina in the future, now that Alexa was dead.
“If we catch grouper, I’ll cook them for our dinner,” Diane said.
“I only promise fishing,” Randy said. “No promises at all about catching.”
Katie trudged to her apartment, feeling envious of the Dades’ family life and wondering how her own marriage could have turned into such a fiasco. She made her supper, keeping it well balanced, holding down the calorie count. Plain yogurt. Banana and kiwi salad. Skim milk. Appropriate fare for the gourmet-ascetic. She sighed and tried to avoid thinking of the garlic bread and chowder Diane was serving downstairs.
After she finished eating she showered and climbed into bed, propping herself against her pillows as she studied her notebook. Once again she listed the suspects she had questioned, along with their alibis. Diane had attended the city council meeting and she had lots of witnesses, including Samuel Addison and Rex Layton. She drew lines through those three names.
Mary Bethel claimed neighbors would vouch that she had been home. But had she? Po claimed he had been at Captain Tony’s. But had he? All evening? Maybe she shouldn’t have booked tomorrow morning on the Lady Di. Maybe she should have used the time to check on alibis. But she could do that in the afternoon. She needed to talk to Randy, to hear his story about his mother-in-law’s murder.
*
Wednesday morning dawned calm, cloudy, and chilly, and she dressed in layers she could peel off in case the sun appeared later. Shorts under jeans. Tank top under turtleneck under sweatshirt. She packed ham and cheese sandwiches, chips, sodas, trying to ignore the fat content. Neither Randy nor Diane were calorie-counting types. Before leaving her apartment, she grabbed a fishing hat, sunglasses, and sunscreen. And her notebook. Once outside, she wished the world had a remote control that allowed people to fast-forward gloom to sunshine.
Randy wore only khaki shorts, shirt, and a blue windbreaker, but Diane was layered much the same as Katie. They drove toward Stock Island, nosing into the traffic on Eaton Street then making a sharp left turn onto North Roosevelt and crossing the Boca Chica Bridge. At the marina parking lot, low, gray-blue clouds pushed the stench of gasoline, oil, and fish close to the ground. Boat captains and fishermen hurried about, shoulders hunched, necks drawn turtle-like into their jackets and sweatshirts.
Katie and Diane waited in the dimly lit dive shop, showing superficial interest in treble hooks and tube lures. They studied a display case of shiny doubloons and encrusted pieces of eight which Mel Fisher had traded the shop owner years ago for some of the diving gear necessary to continue his search for the Atocha.
“Let’s go, women,” Randy called at last.
Katie followed Diane to the dock, waiting until Diane took her hand before she stepped onto the teakwood gunnel and then down into Randy’s seventeen-foot backwater boat. She eased past fishing rods standing at attention in the rack by the console and sat on the fishing seat, scooting over to make room for Diane. Randy stowed their lunch in an ice bin under the poling platform at the stern.
“The Lady Di,” Katie said. “Nice name.”
“Named after my Di, not the British princess.” Randy grinned at his wife. “But the name draws attention and that’s good for business. Potential customers notice it and it sticks in their memories.” He started the motor and eased the Lady Di from the marina, leaving no wake. When they reached the channel, he increased their speed, heading under the bridge and toward the Gulf. “What would you like to fish for today?”
A murderer. “How about ’cuda?” Katie asked. “Would we have any luck at that?”
“Maybe.” They took a long fast run over cobalt waves before he cut the motor, hoisted himself onto the stern platform, and poled the Lady Di into shallow water so clear and still it might have been an illusion.
“Stand on the bow, Katie. Diane, you can cast from the stern. Try not to tangle your lines, ladies.”
“I’ll just watch today,” Diane said. “Have at it, Katie.”
“I’ve spotted one to the starboard.” Randy pointed. “See it? Quick! Make a long cast. Two o’clock.”
Katie looked, saw nothing, but made the cast, dubiously watching the pink lure splash into the sea. “Did I come close?”
“Pull it in. Fast!” Diane said. “Wind it!”
She cranked, feeling the vibration of the reel and hearing its clicking sound.
“Too late,” Randy called. “You got to plunk it right in front of his nose. He’s still cold and sluggish.” He poled for a few more minutes, then he turned the boat slightly to port side. “There. See that dark spot on the white sand at eleven o’clock. Throw! Now!”
This time she saw the fish, cast toward it, and began reeling.
“He’s eyeballing it.” Diane hopped onto the fishing seat for a better view.
“He’s following it,” Randy said. “Jiggle your rod. Good. Now reel. He wants it. Here he comes!”
She felt the ’cuda hit the lure and she reeled frenetically, forcing the rod tip up, letting the fish take line, then reeling it in again.
“He’s coming in,” Diane shouted.
“Keep the rod tip up!” Randy yelled. “Let him have some line. Now reel! Watch it. He’s going under the boat.”
“If he heads for the prop…” Diane broke off mid-sentence.
Katie stepped down from the bow and stood on the port side, reeling, reeling. The ’cuda swam in front of the bow once more, a silver streak against the dull gray-green of the turtle grass, and she cranked the reel faster, feeling her arm muscles begin to ache, her fingers grow numb.
“He’s coming close. He’s tired.” Randy knelt at the starboard side with a gaff, ready to boat fish. “Want to keep him?”
“No point in that. Release him, okay?” She fought to keep the rod tip up.
“I want to see him,” Diane said. “I brought my camera.”
“Gotcha!” Using the gaff, Randy brought the ’cuda aboard. His biceps bulged as he held it up. “He’ll go thirty pounds at least. Maybe more.”
Diane snapped three shots, and Katie noted Randy’s strong hands and arms as she marveled at the weight and length of the fish that reached from his chest to the deck. Then she nodded. “Put him back.”
Randy lowered the ’cuda into the sea, carefully removing the gaff and gripping the fish by the tail. He eased it back and forth through the water until its strength returned, then it lunged from his grasp, swimming across the crystal flat and disappearing into the blue water of the channel.
“Nice catch,” Randy said. “Want to try for another?”
“Let’s talk. My arms need a rest.” She sat on the bow, facing the wheel. “I do need to ask some questions.” Both she and Diane refused the soda Randy offered, and he began drinking it.
“I realize I’m a suspect,” Randy said. “But I think my alibi will satisfy you.”
“And I’ll vouch for him,” Diane said.
“Okay. Let’s hear it. Where were you on that Monday night?”
“I drove to Big Pine Key to att
end a fly-tying session at a friend’s house. He has a shed on his property where we can spread out our stuff without driving his wife crazy. There were eight or ten of us present that night. I can supply names. The guys will back me up. We meet once a month and I’m a regular.”
“What time did the meeting break up?”
“At nine o’clock. Big Pine’s a thirty to forty-five minute drive from Key West, depending on traffic.”
“The med examiner set the time of death between eight and ten,” Diane reminded her.
“I know,” Katie said.
“Under usual circumstances I would have been home a little before ten, but that night slow drivers clogged the highway. As you know, there are few places to pass. And then, three cars piled up on the Niles Channel Bridge.”
“How bad?”
“No one seriously hurt, just shaken up, but the incident caused a real traffic tangle. One of the cars flooded and wouldn’t start. It was blocking both bridge lanes and everyone had to wait it out.”
“Did anyone call the police?”
“A patrolman stopped and helped get traffic moving. Took him about an hour.”
“So what time did you get back to Key West?”
“It was well after ten. Close to ten forty-five. Right, Diane?”
“Right. I was clock watching. That highway’s a bear, especially at night when the drunks and druggies feel compelled to get behind the wheel. I always worry when Randy doesn’t come in on time.”
Would she lie for Randy? Protect her husband at all costs? Katie doubted that. Diane had been a straight arrow in all their dealings. She’d check on the accident. That should be easily verified. Bridge accidents were common. The locals accepted such delays with equanimity. The tourists were the ones who got uptight and loud-mouthed and sometimes obstreperous.
“Randy, there’s a rumor that you threatened Alexa’s life. True?”
Randy peered at the horizon, then his blue eyes narrowed as he met Katie’s gaze. “Alexa and I had lots of arguments, and I’ll admit I said I’d see her dead before I’d let her interfere with my marriage or my family. I didn’t mean it literally.” He paused again. “At least I don’t think I did.”
Conch Shell Murder Page 10
