Something Fishy

by Lois Schmitt

  We exited his office and headed down the hallway. When we passed the shark tank, the nine foot bull shark was in full view. I shuddered.

  “Have you made any progress in finding out who sabotaged the shark tank?” I asked.

  Oscar shook his head. “No. The police haven’t been back since your incident. I’ve tried to develop a time line as to what employees were working there, but since we haven’t done any shark dives in a while, I’ve no idea of how far back to look.”

  At the end of the corridor, we came to a door marked Staff Only. “This encloses the staircase to the employee work area,” Oscar said as he pulled open the door.

  “This isn’t locked?”

  “Most of the time. But two fish keepers are currently working upstairs, so it’s open today.”

  I trudged up the stairs behind him. Upon reaching the top, we stood at one end of a long aisle. At the opposite end were piles of cartons, shelving, and three large commercial refrigerators. Two fish keepers were tearing open the cartons and placing the contents on the shelves.

  “This is where we store our fish food and other supplies,” Oscar said.

  I realized Katie might have come here to get supplies for her sea lions. Her assailant may have been lying in wait.

  On either side of us, for the entire length of the aisle, were the tops of the fish tanks that we had passed when we were below. As we headed down this aisle, I looked down into the exhibits featuring fish from around the world including the coral reef of the Caribbean, the Amazon River, and the North Atlantic Ocean. When I came to the sea snakes, I shivered. The image of Katie was etched across my mind.

  “We feed the fish from here.” Oscar smiled. “Lots of tasks that we perform involve risks. But feeding the fish is pretty safe.”

  I made my way to the edge. The glass sides came up to my hips, making it almost impossible for someone to accidentally fall into the water.

  But pushing a body into a tank was a definite possibility.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Are you here to watch Abby ride?” Jillian asked. I was at Patterson Stables, where I’d run into Jillian who was pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with horse manure.

  “Yes. I was at the aquarium, so I thought I’d stop by,” I said. I trailed behind her as she shoveled manure off the ground. “Speaking of Abby, what’s going to happen to her horse lease if and when you sell this place?”

  “She won’t have a problem. She only signed a lease for three months. I’ll be here a lot longer than that.”

  “Did the deal to sell fall through?”

  “Not at all. It’s just that Moray won’t buy my land until the twenty acres of bay front property is officially his. Without the condominiums, he feels there is no need for a shopping center.”

  “So, it’s up in the air.” I knew this but wanted to see her reaction.

  Jillian shook her head. “The owner of the twenty acres has given the aquarium until the end of June to come up with the money. No way they can do that. Once the deadline arrives, Moray will step in. As soon as he seals the deal, he’ll buy my property.”

  “June is less than nine months away. Can you afford to operate the stable for that long?”

  She shoveled another pile of manure into the wheelbarrow. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

  “It’s my daughter’s business. It’s the business of anyone who leases or boards a horse here. Do your clients have any idea that you’re thinking of selling?”

  Jillian narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists. I flinched. The woman was physically intimidating. But then she sighed, releasing all physical signs of tenseness. “Jack had a small life insurance policy, and I was the beneficiary.”

  I must have looked surprised, because she quickly added, “ It’s not a lot of money, but its enough to support this place for roughly a year.”

  “What are you going to do once you sell?”

  “I’ll probably move. With Jack gone, there’s nothing holding me here anymore.” She smiled wistfully. “I’ve been cleaning out his room. I think Jack kept everything he owned since kindergarten. He had a collection of shells, comic books, bottle caps, stamps, and postcards.” She shook her head. “Postcards. That’s a thing of the past.”

  Her sad looking brown eyes reminded me of a Basset Hound, making me wonder if my suspicions about her were right. She appeared genuinely distraught over the loss of Jack. Could a woman like this murder her brother?

  But some people possess remarkable acting skills.

  She continued, “If I do move, it will be to an area with horses. I’ll look for a job at a stable. I have training as a veterinary technician. I’m great with horses but not with managing money, so I’ll probably be better off working for someone.” She paused as she appeared to scan her surroundings. “But I do so love this place.”

  “Jillian, do you have a business manager or an accountant helping you?”

  She shook her head. “Jack and I always did everything by ourselves.”

  I pulled out my phone. “I’m giving you the name of my husband’s accountant. Before you make a final decision, why don’t you talk to him? I’ll let him know to expect your call.” I don’t know why I did this. Jillian could be the murderer. But if she wasn’t, I didn’t want to see her lose this horse farm which she loved.

  Jillian put the information in her phone, and we said good-bye. I headed to the outdoor arena to watch Abby ride Topper over two-foot wooden jumps. Since Abby had to get back to work, she cut her session short, and we made our way back to the barn, Topper in tow.

  At the far end of our aisle, a horse on cross ties was being groomed by a young teenager. A woman, whom I assumed was her mother, stood nearby, handing her daughter grooming tools from a nearby tack box. I made my way toward them.

  “Beautiful horse,” I said, as I gazed at the chestnut with a black mane.

  “Lucky’s a love,” the girl replied. “And he’s a really good horse. I won a blue ribbon with him at the horse show here a week ago.”

  “A week ago?”

  “It will be exactly a week tomorrow.”

  That was the day following Katie Chandler’s death.

  I remembered when Abby competed in horse shows. The day preceding the big event was a busy day at the host stable, and barn help was usually there in case complications arose. Jillian had no staff, so it’s likely she would have been here to provide assistance. That would have given her an alibi, depending upon how late she stayed here.

  “So, I guess you were busy grooming Lucky that Saturday. Was Jillian here?” I asked.

  “Yeah. She came around a few times to make sure all her riders were prepared for the next day.”

  “Except for the hour we couldn’t find her,” her mother added. “I was so annoyed at the time we wasted.”

  My ears perked. “What happened?”

  “My daughter couldn’t find her curry comb. There are extra grooming supplies in the tack room, but when we went there, it was locked. We tried to find Jillian but she was gone.” She shook her head. “That was irresponsible. She knows a million things come up before a horse show.”

  “It all worked out, Mom,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “No reason for panic. Another rider was still here, and she lent me her comb.”

  “Several riders were running late,” the mother said, shaking her head. “She shouldn’t have left until we were all gone.”

  “What time did this happen?”

  “As I said, we were running late. I don’t know exactly what time she left, but we were looking for her a little after six.”

  The same time Katie left her home to go to the aquarium.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “But she had to have had a good reason to run off from the stable the day before a horse show,” I said. “Could murder be that reason?�
�

  I was sipping my favorite alcoholic beverage, a pomegranate martini, on the patio of the Nautical Inn overlooking the Great South Bay. Matt and I were waiting for Tim and Barbara to join us for dinner.

  “Did you ask Jillian why she left?” Matt asked as he swished the scotch in his glass.

  “Didn’t have a chance. I also don’t know if I would believe anything she told me.”

  A puzzled expression spread across Matt’s face. “But, Kristy,” he said. “Would a woman have the strength to push Katie in the sea snake tank?”

  “This woman would. She’s nearly six foot tall and has more muscles than most men I know. You should see her toss hay bales in the stable.”

  “Have you told the police about this?”

  I shook my head while gazing at the orange sun setting on the water. “It won’t do any good. Detective Wolfe is handling the case, and he would disregard any leads that come from me. The police haven’t the foggiest notion who committed the crime.” I sighed. “Neither do I, but I intend to find out.”

  “Kristy, be careful.” Matt ran his hand through his thinning sandy hair. “Two people have been murdered, and you could have been killed in the shark tank, and—”

  “This conversation seems way too serious,” a voice interrupted. It was my sister-in-law, Barbara. Bringing up the rear was my brother, who looked more disheveled than usual. His thick eye glasses had a crack in the right lens.

  “Sorry, we’re late,” Barbara said. “Tim was delayed at the zoo.”

  “Dental problems with one of my crocodiles,” my brother added as he slid into a chair.

  “We were just talking about the murder at the aquarium,” I said.

  “What is it with you and murder? Let’s talk about something else,” Barbara sat down and rubbed her hands together. “How about your mother and Paul Andre? What’s going on there?”

  “I think your mother really loves him, Kristy,” said Matt.

  “Or she loves the idea of being in love.” Although my mother had lots of friends in Florida, I think she missed male companionship.

  “Is Mom out with Paul tonight?” Tim asked.

  “No. She and Marcia went to the movies. Paul couldn’t make it because he was meeting with a prospective financial backer.”

  “On a Saturday night?” Matt swallowed what remained of his scotch.

  “We no longer live in a Monday to Friday work world. Business is conducted seven days and nights.”

  The waitress approached, took drink orders from Tim and Barbara, and asked us if we wanted to be seated inside for dinner or stay on the patio. Although the restaurant with its dark paneling, subdued lighting, and fresh flowers on every table, was gorgeous, nothing could beat the Harvest moon, which soon would be visible in the sky above the Great South Bay. Since space heaters had been placed on the patio to ward off the chilly autumn night air, we opted to dine outside.

  After the waitress handed us menus, I excused myself to use the rest room. As I entered the restaurant and wandered down the hall, my eyes adjusting to the diminished light, I heard a familiar voice coming from a nearby alcove.

  I stopped and listened.

  “Just one more week. I promise you this is the last time,” the voice said. And you’re going to love Paris. We’ll have a wonderful time. A wonderful life.”

  It felt like tiny spiders crawling in my intestines.

  I peeked around the corner, so I could peer into the alcove without being seen.

  The familiar voice belonged to Paul Andre.

  Paul was sitting with an attractive blond, probably thirty years younger than he was. The way his hand was placed on hers, this didn’t look like a business meeting.

  I hurried back outside and told my family what I’d seen.

  “Are you sure?” Barbara’s eyes widened. She rose from her chair. “A love triangle. I’m going to take a look.”

  I grabbed her arm. “Wait. You need to be sure he doesn’t see you.”

  “Why?” Barbara furrowed her brows. “Don’t you plan to confront him?”

  I shook my head. “We need to get to the bottom of this first. If we don’t, and if we cause a break-up, Mom will never forgive us.”

  Barbara sat back down. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. But tomorrow Mom and I are going to Marcia’s house to help sort out items for the garage sale. That’s when I’ll pry a bit and come up with a plan.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “Do your really think someone will buy a statue of an owl with a clock in its stomach?”

  “Who knows?” My mother shrugged. We were in Marcia’s basement sorting through

  items for the garage sale. Marcia had gone upstairs to fetch us coffee.

  “This is really a pile of junk,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “I heard that.” My mother smiled. “You know what they say about one man’s trash being another man’s treasure. Besides, Marcia has already sold a few items online.”

  I looked at my mother. “I thought you had said she wasn’t comfortable with online selling.”

  “She’s not. My Paul is helping her. So far, he brought in more than six hundred dollars. He’s taking care of everything including mailing the merchandise to the buyers.”

  “What’s he sold?”

  “Some small kitchen appliances, a few books, and, oh, her doll collection.”

  “Marcia has a doll collection?”

  My mother nodded. “She has about a dozen dolls. Marcia’s father started the collection for her. He traveled on business when she was a child, and he always would bring back a doll from the state or country he had visited. She has a beautiful porcelain doll from Japan, an Indian warrior doll from Arizona, an Eskimo—”

  “Here’s your coffee,” Marcia interrupted as she descended the stairs. She handed us cups, then got down on the floor to help with the sorting, a difficult task since she suffered from arthritis.

  “Are you seeing Paul today?” I asked my mother.

  “I’m meeting him at his hotel in about an hour and a half for an early dinner. After that he has a business meeting, so I’ll be back at your house. Will you and Matt be home?”

  I nodded absentmindedly as I wondered what sort of business. Would it involve the blond from last night?

  An idea popped into my mind. “Where’s Paul staying?”

  “The Weeping Whale Hotel.”

  The Weeping Whale was a boutique hotel located about ten miles from here.

  I devised a plan. I’d go to the Weeping Whale and wait outside the hotel. After Paul finished dinner with my mother, I’d follow him to his meeting.

  “Oh, look at these pictures. You’ll get a kick out of these, Kristy,” Marcia said, interrupting my thoughts. She was sorting through an old photo album.

  Marcia handed me the album, and I began thumbing through the pages, examining the black and white pictures, so different than today’s digital photography.

  One photo caught my eye. I stared at it for a few seconds. “What are you doing with these albums?” I asked Marcia who, along with my mother, had moved to the other end of the basement where they were attaching price tags on old barbecue utensils.

  “I’m keeping them, of course,” she said. “For the time being, I’m placing them in the big carton by the stairs. I’ll take that to a storage unit I recently rented. Once I move to my new place, I’ll bring everything home.”

  While Marcia and my mother continued pricing items, I slipped a photo out of the album and stashed it carefully in my bag.

  *****

  Later that day, I sloughed behind my steering wheel in the Weeping Whale Hotel parking lot waiting for Paul Andre to emerge. I had positioned my car in a prime spot in the guest parking area with a good view of the main entrance. Before leaving Marcia’s hou
se, I had asked my mother what type of auto Paul was driving. She said a black Chrysler LeBaron.

  I hoped to stay out of Paul’s sight, but I wanted to be prepared just in case. I had put my hair in a French twist and donned a pair of oversized sunglasses. He’d only met me once, so hopefully he wouldn’t recognize me.

  “They’ve been here for way more than an hour. They should be finished with dinner by now,” I mumbled as I glanced at my watch impatiently, then drummed my fingers on the steering wheel.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was beginning to wonder if Paul had left through another door when he and my mother emerged from the front of the hotel. He escorted her to her rental car, then walked through the lot until he reached the black LeBaron located about ten cars down from where I was parked.

  As he drove off, I followed. I didn’t have a real plan. I simply wanted to see where he went next. I hoped he wasn’t going too far. To my luck, he drove for less than a mile and pulled into the parking lot of a popular watering hole called the Blackbird Inn.

  I hopped out of my car and followed him at a safe distance as he entered through the front door and strolled through the lobby to the taproom. He appeared to scan the dimly lit room, then headed to a table in the far corner. As he slid into a chair next to the blond he had been with last night, he reached over the table and greeted a man sitting across from the woman.

  “What the hell is going on?” I mumbled.

  Paul was shaking hands with Bradford Monroe.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “I’d like to see Lucien Moray’s proposal for development of the land adjacent to the aquarium,” I said to the clerk in Clam Cove’s Office of Planning and Zoning. Tall, skinny, with a beak-like nose and large hands, he reminded me of Icabod Crane.

  “It will take a moment. While I retrieve them, please fill this out.” He handed me a form and disappeared into a back room.

  Although Lucien Moray’s presentation at the Village Hall meeting two weeks ago provided a rendition of his new development, I wanted to examine the plans more closely. I knew I was grasping at straws, but maybe I had overlooked something that served as a motive in Jack and Katie’s deaths.