Conch Shell Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  Relief. Elation. Sadness. She couldn’t analyze all the feelings welling inside her. Enough time for that later. And plenty of time later for talking with the Chitting family, with Beck Dixon. The wind was dying down and the sun was breaking through the cloud cover as she drove to Rex’s house, picked the lock, and entered.

  “Some people never learn.” She dropped her picklock back into her purse.

  The makings for the conch chowder were in the refrigerator, and by the time Rex returned, the spicy aroma of the thick soup filled the house.

  “Katie!” Rex called from the front doorway, then he hurried to the kitchen and swooped her into his arms, pressing her against him as his lips met hers. Moments later he stood back to look at her. “I heard the news on the radio as I drove from the airport. Big congratulations! Tell me all about it. I want to hear it in your own words.”

  Rex mixed them drinks, which they carried to the sunshine of the patio, and Katie retold the story that she had already repeated several times at the police station.

  “There’s a certain irony in the justice of it,” she said. “Mary punishes Alexa for causing the death of her parents, then in return Alexa reaches from the grave to punish her. It’s sort of a ripple effect.”

  “Were you frightened as you faced Mary?”

  She hesitated, then answered honestly, her voice barely audible. “I was scared to death.” It relieved her to admit it.

  “I’m glad. You’d have been a fool not to have been scared.”

  “But I wanted to be brave.”

  “Brave people act in spite of their fear. You did that.”

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I? And I feel great about that and about solving the case on my own. I’ve never felt so competent, but I can’t help feeling sorry for Mary.”

  “Sorry for a murderer?”

  “Yes. In spite of having everything Alexa’s money could provide, or perhaps because of having so much given to her, Mary grew up a disadvantaged child. She grew up thinking that everyone owed her something—something she wasn’t getting. And nobody ever set her straight.”

  Rex rolled his eyes. “Next you’ll be saying the murder really wasn’t Mary’s fault.”

  “Oh, it was her fault, all right.” She shuddered as she thought about the police pictures of the murder scene. “But I still have some sympathy for her. Riches fell into her lap. It would have taken a strong person to refuse Alexa’s gifts. Mary never had a chance to learn whether or not she could make it on her own.”

  “Maybe the state will give her a chance to develop a new career. Perhaps she’ll have a true talent for making license plates.”

  “You’re heartless.”

  Before he could reply, the telephone rang. He answered, then called her. “It’s McCartel.”

  She took the phone. “Mac! It’s over. Mary Bethel’s in custody—and so is Elizabeth Wright.”

  “I heard. It’s on every news station in South Florida. Are you okay? They said you were shot.”

  “Bullet just grazed my arm. I’m fine.”

  “Congratulations. You did a great job.”

  “It’s a relief to have it behind me.”

  “Don’t dream of relaxing. We have another assignment. A biggie.”

  She sighed. “Could you tell me about it tomorrow? I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  “Right. Talk to you tomorrow. Great job, Katie girl.”

  She replaced the receiver and joined Rex again at the pool. He had served the chowder, and they sat down to eat.

  “You’re a great cook, Katie.”

  “It was a case of have to.” She grinned at him. “I was starving. Food has never tasted so good.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  She savored the subtle flavorings of the chowder, bit into a buttered roll. When they finished eating she sighed and pushed her plate and bowl aside. “Mac says we have another job.”

  “That’s what detectives do. They detect. Are you up for it?”

  “The Chitting case has given me a lot to think about. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pride of accomplishment, a new self-confidence. Someday I might even be brave enough to go back to classroom teaching, but for now, I think I belong right here in Key West at the McCartel/Hassworth agency.”

  “I’m glad. Very glad.”

  “How did things go for you in New York?”

  “Great. Dad wants me to come home, take over the hotel chain as he goes into retirement.”

  She looked across the pool at the privacy fence, refusing to meet his gaze. What would she do without him? “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him no. I’m like you, Katie. I think I belong right here in Key West. I need the warmth of community support—especially of one person in this community.”

  “I’m glad. Really glad.”

  He rose and came to her side, pulling her to her feet as he took her in his arms. She made no protest.