by Scott Cook
I smiled, “Bunco, huh? Who says bunco anymore?”
“Hey, I can be hard-boiled. And you said hoosegow,” Alex protested. “Anyway, he’s seen a lot of nasty shit out there.”
“Guess that makes it okay then,” I said. “Well, whatever… long as he stays out of my face.”
Alex shrugged, “Bark’s worse than his bite. So now what?”
“Now, we go to bed and wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the mañana as you Latin types are fond of saying. Then I drive out to LaBelle and talk to Marcus Bradford.”
“I’m sure that’ll go well,” Alex said as he got to his feet.
“Nobody likes a smartass, Alex.”
“Then how do you explain all the people who like you?”
“Wit, good looks and charm,” I said.
“At least you’re modest,” he said with a wry grin.
“I have to be… I have so much to be modest about.”
8
I’ve always found Florida to be a fascinating place. Not many visitors realize just how diverse the state actually is. People think Florida and they naturally think beaches, oranges and the famous mouse. However, when you leave the coasts south of Orlando, you drive into a world that could just as easily be the plains of Montana or Wyoming. Huge flat tracts of land broken by long lines of trees. Drive across the state, on State Roads 60, 70 or 80, and you’ll drive through mile after mile of farms and massive cattle ranches.
As I left Fort Myers and headed west on State Road 80, I quickly left the coastal development and found myself in the more pastoral world of tomato farms, dairy farms and beef ranches. Although a small town in terms of population, LaBelle Florida is the county seat for Hendry County and is built up along the southern edge of the Caloosahatchee River. The town sprawls south and east from the river and beyond the city’s borders are a variety of farming concerns, including The Big B Cattle Ranch, the official name of Marcus Bradford’s concern. The ranch, a thousand acres or more that backed up to the Caloosahatchee between Hendry and Glades County, was represented by a large capital B with stylized cattle horns protruding from either side. This was etched into a large wooden sign over the main gate off Steer Road, the dirt and gravel road that led north from 80.
I had to drive past most of the pasture in order to get to the main gate. The wide-open space was separated into smaller plots by rambling log fences and carefully planted trees. Hundreds of head of cattle ranged over the pastures, with the occasional wrangler riding among them on horseback. I was also surprised to see sheep, chickens and some turkeys as well. The main house and horse barn was situated along the northwest corner of the ranch, close to the river. The grounds around the house were planted with lush St. Augustine grass, decorative palms and live oaks. The house was a two-story affair that, although built to resemble a rustic farmhouse, was a splendid four-thousand square footer with a high gabled roof complete with solar panels. The horse barn that sat a hundred feet or so behind the house also featured solar.
Affixed to one of the uprights of the thirty-foot high arched sign was a call box. I got out of my Jeep and pressed a red button and waited.
“Jes?” the speaker inquired in a thick Hispanic accent.
“Good morning… my name is Scott Jarvis. I’m here to speak with Mr. Bradford. Is he in?”
“Do ju have the appointment?” the speaker asked.
“I don’t.”
There was a pause before the box said: “Señor Bradford is no at the casa. He is out with the cows.”
“May I come in and wait?” I asked. “Perhaps you can call him and let him know I’m here?”
The box sighed in mild exasperation, “Uno momento, por favor…”
I waited uno momento. Then what seemed like several more momentos before the box deigned to address me once more.
“Okay, you come.”
There was a click and a whirring. The two long log gates swung inward, giving me access to the long, curved concrete drive. I got back into my Jeep and drove the hundred feet or so up to the front of the house where the driveway split from a side-entry garage and ambled around toward the covered front porch.
I was met by a pretty and somewhat plump woman dressed in a classic maid’s uniform. She was perhaps forty, about five-foot-two and had long black hair braided in the French style behind her head.
“Come in please, señor,” she implored, swinging the door wide and giving me access to a sort of foyer that bordered a sunken living room to one side and a hallway on the other. “I’m Juanita. Meester Bradford is on his way back. He said to have you wait on the patio. You come.”
I came.
She led me past the living room and to the back of the house to a wall of sliding glass doors that looked in on the dining room and kitchen beyond and a sort of bar/billiard room to the left. They looked out onto a large covered back porch with a spectacular view of the river. Juanita led me outside and showed me to a table with padded chairs.
“Would ju care for the iced tea?” she asked, indicating a pitcher, ice bucket and glasses in the center of the table.
“Yes, thank you.”
She poured me a freshly brewed tea and then disappeared back into the house. I sat and gazed around at what I could see of the property. To my right, a paved path led across the back lawn to the horse barn. Directly before me, another path led down to a dock where a pontoon and small fishing skiff were tied. As I watched, a large sport fisherman plied its way up the river. This struck me as incongruous in such a rural setting, yet I knew that the Caloosahatchee was part of the Inland Passage.
The Inland Passage was a set of natural and man-made waterways that connected Fort Myers on the Gulf coast to Stuart on the Atlantic. Utilizing Lake Okeechobee at the center, the Inland Passage allowed large vessels to cross the state without having to make the long passage around the southern end of the peninsula and through the Keys. However, it also flushed a great deal of freshwater, often tainted by pesticides and phosphates and other farming runoff into the Indian River Lagoon and the Caloosahatchee. It was, in truth, an environmental snafu that should probably be closed.
As I listened to the occasional bird and the chittering of insects, I looked past the horse barn and out at the vast fields of the ranch. I could see several outbuildings and another barn far off on the other side of the property. I also saw two people dressed in what appeared to be classic western wear riding matching brown and white Palominos toward me.
The pair slowed their mounts, slid smoothly from the saddles and patted the horses’ sides. They removed the bridles and let them wander off. The man was maybe sixty. He was a robust sixty, with broad shoulders and an athletic build with only a hint of a belly. He was dressed in boots, jeans and a white western shirt and black banded Stetson. The woman was dressed in the same fashion, except her shirt was blue and her banded Stetson white. She was maybe fifty, although her attractive features and long blonde hair belied her age. Her body was slender and about the same five-foot-nine as her companion.
“Mr. Jarvis?” The man asked in a noticeable Texas accent.
“That’s me,” I replied, getting to my feet.
“I’m Mark Bradford, and this is my wife Natalie,” Bradford said as the pair climbed the three broad steps up to the porch.
We shook hands and took seats at the table. Natalie poured her husband and herself a tall glass of iced tea.
“Nice morning for a ride,” I commented. “Not even eighty yet.”
“It’s been a lovely winter and spring,” Natalie stated in the same accent as her husband. “Quite a change from last year.”
I smiled charmingly, “Yes… a hot winter last year. I think that’s why we had so many named storms last season.”
“Let’s hope the cooler weather this year keeps that from happening again,” Natalie replied with equal charm.
“Amen to that,” Bradford added. “So, Mr. Jarvis, what can I do you for?”
I shifted in my chair and cleared my throat
slightly, “Well sir… this is a rather delicate matter…”
Natalie seemed to pick up on my discomfort. Although it was somewhat manufactured. For all I knew, this man could be the mastermind behind all that’s happened on my case. He could also be innocent, and some level of decorum must be maintained.
“Is this about Veronica?” Natalie asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirmed.
“That horrible business on her boat last week?” Natalie asked.
“Damn crazy business,” Bradford added. “So what… are you a cop? Investigating the whole thing?”
“I’m a private investigator,” I explained. “Veronica hired me to both protect her and to discover who might be behind the attempt on her life.”
Natalie’s eyes went wide, “She thinks it was a deliberate attack? Is she all right? We haven’t heard from her since.”
Bradford harrumphed, “Just from what we heard on the news, I’d say it’s hard to see it as anything but deliberate. We’ve tried to get in touch… but she hasn’t returned our calls.”
I nodded in sympathy, “Yes… she was in the hospital for a few days recovering. She’s got business she’s doing now, but I think she’s coming home today. She’s all right, though. So is Ted Whittaker.”
“Ted?” Bradford asked.
“He was on the boat with her,” I said. “Or at least was for a while.”
They both looked confused.
“She was the only one on board when the boat caught fire in Saint Pete,” I explained. “Ted wasn’t there.”
“I don’t understand…” Natalie stated. “How do you know all of this?”
Bradford’s eyes went wide now, “You were the one that jumped aboard and pulled her off, weren’t you?”
I nodded, “Yes, a friend and me. I also found Ted in a hospital in Saint Pete. He was brought in with a head injury that’s brought on temporary amnesia.”
“My God…” Natalie breathed, touching a hand to her generous bosom.
Bradford frowned, “That’s… strange.”
I chuckled slightly, “And then some.”
“I know Ted,” Bradford said with a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “He’s a decent guy. Why I introduced him to Ronnie. You sayin’ he’s involved?”
I sighed, “Well… it’s mighty fishy that he was on board and then wasn’t for the grand finale. Veronica was drugged and only came to in the hospital later. So who got aboard and set the fire and the bomb? Who drugged her? Who took Ted off? Who programmed the GPS and autopilot to drive the boat right into the damned basin?”
Natalie frowned, “That does seem… unusual.”
Bradford scowled, “I’d hate to think ill of Ted… but you do have a point, after all. So why come here and talk to us, though?”
I made a show of being uncomfortable and fidgeting in my chair. I took a long pull from the iced tea, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “This is where things get… awkward. Veronica has a list of people she believes may be behind this. A list of folks who would benefit from her no longer being the CEO of Bradford Avionics.”
Natalie scowled, and Bradford, to his credit, only nodded before saying: “Me for one. My niece and nephew and a couple of others, I’d wager.”
“I’m afraid so,” I confirmed reluctantly.
“She thinks Mark would try to kill her?” Natalie emoted. “I can’t believe she’d think that! My God! Ronnie has always been a bit… high-strung. Maybe a bit too full of herself… but I never would have thought she’d accuse any of us.”
“Difficult to hear,” I said.
“Guess I get it, though,” Bradford said evenly. “Truth is… I would like to unseat her. Yes, she was married to my brother for almost ten years, and she is a very smart woman… but she’s not a Bradford. The company has always been a family business and I’d like it to stay that way. I’ve tried talking to her about it… but Ronnie is a stubborn girl.”
“She claims that she’s a driving influence behind the company’s current level of success,” I stated. “She claims that she’s earned her position and that your brother thought so as well.”
Natalie chuffed but said nothing.
Bradford sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, “I won’t say she hasn’t done some good for the company. But I still feel it should remain under the control of the Bradfords. I’ve offered her a profit-sharing settlement. I’ve even offered to make her a VP if she’d stand down and let me take the CEO position.”
“She refuses,” Natalie said tightly.
None of this was particularly shocking to me. I didn’t expect a confession. Indeed, I expected some reasonable responses. However, there was one more point I had to bring up that would probably get me tossed out on my can.
“Sir…” I tried to look abashed, “Veronica says… well, she says that a few years back, you were… uhm…”
“A stumbling drunk?” Bradford asked bemusedly.
“More or less.”
He chuckled, “I was. Had a rough patch. Quite a number of things helped me out of it, though. My brother, for one. And yes, Veronica too. I do owe that lady a great deal. Natalie here was the clincher, though. When I dried out, I met her, and she’s kept me on the straight and narrow ever since. I’m terribly shocked by what almost happened to Ronnie… I’m terribly sorry she suspects I’d have something to do with it.”
Natalie scowled, ”The fact is, Mr. Jarvis… Ronnie has her own past as well. I don’t mean to speak badly of her… but you might do well to investigate that.”
I nodded, “Good point. And I will. I’m no fool, sir… ma’am. I don’t take everybody’s word at face value, not even my client’s. I can’t.”
“But that means us, too,” Natalie said, a little peeved.
“Frankly… yes,” I admitted. “After all, hypothetically speaking… if Mr. Bradford here or both of you were behind the attempted murder… what would you naturally say when asked about it?”
“That’s an awful thing to say!” Natalie snapped angrily. “How dare—“
Bradford held up a hand. A reasonable man who smiled at me indulgently, “Hold on now, honey. We may not like it, but this young man is speaking plain. He’s right. However, my wife and I know we’re innocent, so we aren’t worried about you comin’ round and asking us questions.”
I stood and laid one of my cards on the table, “That’s a very magnanimous attitude, sir. I appreciate it. I’m sorry if my asking about this has upset you, ma’am… but it has to be done. If either of you can think of anything… or anything you think I should know, please don’t hesitate to call. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“It’s all right, son,” Bradford said, standing and shaking my hand. “I wish you good luck. You think you can protect her?”
I nodded and smiled, “Absolutely. I’ve already met a couple of my opposition’s… representatives and found them lacking.”
“What’s that mean?” Natalie asked, still seated.
“Oh… a pair of hoods who claimed to be from Miami,” I said cheerfully. “Lawrence P. Otter and a short guy built like a fireplug named Big Top. Then last night, on my boat in Saint Pete, two guys tried to come at me early in the morning.”
“I see they weren’t successful,” Bradford said wryly.
“They were not,” I said. “Thank you again for the time and the tea.”
Good ole Jarvis… master negotiator.
I sat behind the wheel of my Jeep for a long moment and pondered. I’d learned virtually nothing from this visit… or had I? Natalie Bradford had been a little tweaked about Veronica’s accusations, but her husband hadn’t. He’d been cool, calm and even understanding. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I did wonder if Natalie had really known something about Veronica’s past or was just saying that as a way to defend Marcus. Hinting that Veronica had some sort of seedy past would be a good way to divert my attention.
I started the engine and drove slowly out to the gates. They opened au
tomatically for me, and I drove onto Steer Road and headed back toward 80. I felt a vague sense of dissatisfaction. I’d come all the way to LaBelle to interview Bradford and had learned nothing except that he seemed to be a decent guy.
He seemed, like his brother, to enjoy the company of a younger woman… but I hardly thought that would be of much help.
I got a text from Lisa stating that Veronica was on her way back to Saint Pete and that she was following her down. I replied that we’d meet at Veronica’s house and have a chat. Maybe Veronica could enlighten me as to what I’d seen that morning.
I had just turned onto SR 80 when my Bluetooth warbled with an unknown call. I accepted it, not having much else to do at the moment but drive myself bonkers.
“Good morning, Scott,” The smooth voice of Gregorio Santino said over my stereo speakers.
“Ah, if it isn’t the man himself,” I said. “I’m just fabulous, Gregorio. How about you?” A chuckle, “Busy. However, a mutual friend tells me that you find yourself in a bit of a bind.”
“Oh?”
“Paul says you’re on a case and are experiencing a lack of quality manpower. I thought I’d offer some help.”
I briefly outlined the situation, “I’ve got Lisa with her now, but that’s hardly all it’ll take, I fear.”
“Well, if you’ll allow me, I’ve already sent a hand-picked crew your way,” Gregorio said. “They’re a little rough around the edges, but they’re good and they’ve been ordered to follow any directives you give them.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I said. “I’m headed to Saint Petersburg now. Maybe they can meet me there?”
“Certainly. Anything else I can do?”
I thought about that for a long moment, “Maybe… I’ve been braced by a couple of goons of late. Also, I wonder if you know or can find anything out about Bradford Avionics.”
“Who were the men?”
I told him about Otter and Big Top and about Eddie and Wendell and their boss, Lou Cardoza. He said he’d look into it and get back to me.
