by Pam Moll
Granny Dee’s waterside home was almost palatial. I had driven my golf cart over to borrow one of her many cars for the trip to the precinct and took a few seconds to soak in its beauty.
The huge brick and stucco residence boasted five upstairs bedrooms and four bathrooms, while the main floor housed a ballroom-sized parlor for entertaining guests, a large dining room, a library and a massive kitchen, the master and the housekeeper suites and a guest bedroom and bathroom. An attic filled with treasures sat above the upstairs bedrooms, and a dark cavernous basement that Granny called the cellar was situated under the main floor of the house.
The house itself was nestled amongst acres of banyan and jopoka trees, mangroves, and towering pines.
On the west side stood a giant banyan tree filling the space between the winding driveway and the street. When I was younger, and my parents visited my grandparents, I spent hours up in that tree reading.
Stately palm trees, evenly spaced, bordered the driveway, and a large urn shaped fountain sat center before the front porch. The house itself was a beige stucco topped with a dark wood clapboard on the upper floors and wide windows with white shutters.
Even though the house was a mansion of sorts, it always felt like coming home. There wasn’t a room that I didn’t love, including the fancy dining room we currently sat in.
The smoked apple bacon filled the downstairs with an aroma that was exotic and homey all at once. Granny had just finished breakfast and the three of us were seated at the large table.
I got up and refilled my porcelain cup, and then Henrietta ’s, with coffee, and then stood over my chair and stared at the herb omelet on my plate. This was my favorite breakfast … but after my morning, I wasn’t hungry.
“Miss Molly, you aren’t at your café. Henrietta is supposed to wait on us. Please sit down and let her get your coffee,” said Granny frowning.
“I don’t mind,” I said.
“Hear that, Dee? She doesn’t mind,” Henrietta said. She winked at me and took a sip of her coffee.
I returned the pot to the burner and plopped down in my chair.
“Nasty stuff, that coffee. It’ll put hair on your chest,” Granny said.
“A chance I’ll take,” I mumbled and then pushed food around on my plate.
“Mo, dear, are you okay?” Granny Dee asked. She looked haggard and pale as ash. I thought I should ask her the same question. Maybe my mom was right. I needed to ask Henrietta if Granny was taking all her medication.
“Me? A little shaken.” I shrugged. “I guess you heard about the body on the beach.” I was still in shock over finding it.
“Bless your heart,” Granny drawled. “That must have been so frightening.”
My thoughts went back to the scene on the beach that morning. The image of Jim sprawled out on the sand with seaweed curled around his body seemed unbearably sad to me.
“It was terrible. The police want me at the station later.” It was only 8:30. I had stopped by my apartment, took a quick shower, before my stop at the Bean.
“What? Why you?” Granny was audacious and fearless, and I supposed she’d rather have found the body than me. Which reminded me to ask Granny about whether she was using her cane.
“Standard procedures. I’m a witness. I found the body.”
She nodded. “I don’t think it was accidental.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He wasn’t well liked. I figured someone would knock him off some day.”
Under the large mahogany table, George shrieked at Snickers. Granny’s cat yowled and raked my ankle. For the next few minutes, the room was filled with shrieks and yaps. I tried to ignore the animals and replied to Granny. “Knock him off?”
“That Jim Grist was a Grinch. He had a history and a lot of enemies.”
“Did you know him?” This surprised me.
“Everyone on the island knew him. He hung out at the Grille and I’ve heard he was mean to all the waitresses.”
Mean? I made a mental note to check out the Grille.
“But it was an accidental drowning.” Even as I said the words I felt guilty.
Granny rolled her eyes. “Mo dear, please share what you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Eat,” said Henrietta shaking her silver teaspoon at me. We call Henrietta our resident foodie. She thinks she knows more about all things culinary than every celebrity on the Food Channel combined. My bets were on her. And I felt bad not eating. I didn’t have any appetite, but I didn’t like that I was letting Henrietta down. She loved making the McFadden and Brewster households clean their plates. I picked at my omelet.
“What happened this morning?” Granny asked.
“I need to figure out a few things first before I can discuss it.”
“But tell me what you know? We’re all family here. You don’t want your dear, kindly grandmother to be worried,” she coaxed, a quizzical half smile on her face.
“There’s no reason to worry. I agree with you that his death wasn’t accidental, but I really didn’t suspect foul play. It wasn’t like he had a knife in his back or a gunshot in his chest. There was no sign of violence.” But there were signs of activity on the beach. I recalled the thin tire marks and the disturbed sand around the body.
I could have sworn that Granny seemed a bit disappointed that the fisherman hadn’t been a victim of a violent crime.
Who would have killed Jim? My own unsettling thoughts were interrupted as I spotted a shadow passing behind the dining room window drapes. I got up, pulled them back and caught a glimpse of a tall figure moving smoothly behind the gate into the garden.
“That’s Jet?”
“Yes.” Granny said and looked at me and raised her reddish-gray eyebrows.
I knew that look. She wanted answers.
“Can we talk later? I have to be at the police station soon.”
Granny seemed to deflate. “You promise to fill me in when you get back?”
I nodded, but had my fingers crossed under the table. How many times had I done that sitting at this very table as a young girl. “Can Snickers stay with you?”
“No problem,” Henrietta said, answering for Granny. Henrietta loved my Lab. Granny, not so much.
“Thank you.” I still needed to talk to Henrietta about Granny. So much had happened already that I had briefly forgotten about my mom’s surprise visit.
I kissed Granny’s soft wrinkled cheek, patted Snickers, and made my way to the backyard before borrowing Grandpa’s Saab. It was a spotless, dent-free old black car with polished tan leather, and I knew better than to roll down the back windows, or they’d stay stuck in the half-way position.
Her backyard smelt like freshly mowed grass and sea salt, two of my favorite smells. The garden contained umpteen pots and urns brimming with flowering herbs, bushes and ivies. I thought it was the most beautiful place on the island. This backyard was Disney World to a gardener.
I grew up knowing that one day I’d inherit this beautiful acreage and the estate. I took great responsibility to ensure that my grandparents’ garden endured and survived. I learned about landscape design and the use of plants. I smiled to myself. I just loved being outside, even in the worst of weather―digging, weeding, planting and pruning. It made me happy thinking about it.
I tugged on a pair of gardening gloves and one of the many reusable cloth masks in the shed to guard against my mint allergy and made my way down the neat path. At one time or another, Granny’s herb and extract garden had over eighty plants from alfalfa to wheatgrass. Many of the fall varietals were in full bloom. I passed rosemary, parsley, thyme, tarragon, and went directly to the fresh mint containers. I looked at all the sprightly plants. What always amazed me was the variety of the types of mints. There are more than 500 types of mint plant. Many have similar flavors, and others are quite unique, like licorice, chocolate, grapefruit, pennyroyal, and pineapple.
One thing about mint was that its super invasive. We
kept the mint in containers, or they would invade the garden and in time conquer the island. Weeds are like that too. They have mastered every survival skill except learning how to grow in rows.
I knelt down and examined a few mint plants. I delicately removed a plastic baggie from my pocket and compared the few wilted leaves I had found this morning with the plants in the garden. I immediately recognized the mature brownish red stems and attractive serrated leaves with my sample. Even wearing the breathable mask, I instinctively avoided inhaling the fragrance and pollens in the area as I held the baggie next to the potted plant. It was a match. The chocolate herb plant was one of our most popular. Chocolate Peppermint, the worn wood stake read. This wasn’t just any spice. This was an award-winning perennial that would practically live forever.
The minute I realized the plant on the dead body was not seaweed, but instead was mint, I knew it pointed to someone with a mint garden, or perhaps a chef … unless Jim, the victim, grew the mint himself, which seemed highly unlikely.
Now that I had identified the mint species, I wondered if I should add our gardener Jet, or chef Henrietta, to the suspect list.
I jumped at the sound of a man’s deep voice behind me. I whipped around. “You startled me,” I said.
He smiled. “Hello, Miss Molly.”
“Hi Jet,” I stood and gave him a quick hug. His bald head was covered by a Buccaneer cap with a dark ring of sweat around it.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was, um … looking for George. Granny’s cat.”
“George got out?” Jet asked incredulously.
“I think so.” Liar. George was inside curled under Granny’s chair.
I looked around and began calling out George’s name. My heart pounded in my chest. Had he seen the plastic baggie?
Jet looked around the garden following my lead. “I haven’t seen him today. He never goes far, though.”
“Yep, he never goes far,” I echoed, quietly.
“Do you need help looking for him?”
I removed my mask and stuck it and the baggie into my pocket.
“No, I’m good.”
I needed to find some answers. “Hey, do you know who else grows mint around here?” I asked as I stifled a sneeze.
My questions made me think of my Aunt Tammera, who taught me a thing or two about questioning after years of being married to a detective.
Jet hesitated, avoided my eyes, and brushed dirt off his sleeve. “No.”
I discovered that when people fib, they tend to fidget a lot. Jet kept dusting off his clean shirt sleeve.
I smiled and nodded. “Okay. I was just wondering if there were any other sources that the tea rooms buy from.”
He brushed the invisible dirt from his sleeve again. “You’re looking at a guy who loves growing mint,” He said. “Just look around. Who could compete with this?”
Jet knew most all of the locals connected within the gardening community. So why was he lying about knowing anyone who grew mint?
Did Jet even know Jim? But there I went, jumping to conclusions. After all, it was only a handful of fresh mint. Fresh was the key here. It wasn’t sea soaked or wilted from floating in the bay. My overactive imagination came back to earth.
“Do you grow mint at your place too?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you curious about this?”
“It’s nothing, really.” Or was it? I glanced at my watch. I’d have to work on this later. I sneezed three times and waved my hands in front of my face. “The mint. I need to get out of here. Let’s catch up later about the mint.”
He looked at me. His gaze filled with curiosity. When had I ever invited us “to catch up?”
He nodded and said, “Bye.”
I was driving out of the long driveway when I heard Jet yelling for George.
Coffee doesn’t ask silly questions. Coffee understands.
~ Anonymous
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Palma County Sheriff’s station was located in a small faded yellow stucco building nestled between Hailey’s Cut ‘n Curl and Uncle Bob’s Bar-B-Q. The lone parking space in front held a sign that read Chief’s Parking Only.
I parked the Saab on the street and walked toward the police department. My cell chimed in my backpack and I reached for it.
How are you doing? A text from Aurora.
I smiled. My no-nonsense friend always got straight to the point.
At police station, I typed and hit send.
Do you want me to come with you?
THX. No. I’m good. It was a relief to have someone that cared enough about me to be available in case I needed support.
Say hi to Lucky. Smiley face icon. Heart icon.
I replied with a thumbs-up icon.
I was a bit anxious about seeing Deputy Lucky and his team. I wore a chocolate brown short-sleeve shirt and white jeans, having no idea what to wear to a police station to give a statement. My make-up consisted of a dusting of tan blush on my cheeks, hoping to hide my naturally flushed face, mascara, and a swipe of pink lip gloss. I had struggled with my hair this morning, like every morning, and finally chose to wear it down and curly.
Inside the building, to the right was the water department, the building inspector, and tax collector, where residents could purchase dog tags and garage sale permits and renew their driver’s license. I had been here several times before to get my new Florida driver’s license and Snicker’s tags.
There was a small table in the lobby with a sign indicating the entry forms for the Christmas boat parade. The idea seemed festive―watching an interesting array of yachts and boats circling Palma Bay, all decorated and lit up like Christmas trees.
A left turn in the quaint building led to the Sheriff’s Department. Drew had once told me the force was comprised of small group of hardworking public servants—one chief, one sergeant, two full-time deputies (Lucky Powell and Ted Walker), two detectives, and one part-time guy who was also the mayor of the next town over.
The receptionist buzzed me through and Deputy Ted met me at the door and ushered me to the interrogation room.
“Would you like coffee? Or water?” Deputy Ted asked.
“Coffee, would be great.”
He disappeared for a few minutes then returned clutching a styrofoam cup of coffee.
“Probably not even close to being as good as what you serve in your café,” he said as he handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I took a sip and scrunched my face.
“Nothing like bitter police-station coffee,” Deputy Ted said.
“Anything to shake the cobwebs,” I replied.
I was seated on a metal chair in a stereotypical interview room when Detective Lacey came in. Where was Deputy Lucky?
Deputy Ted left me and Detective Lacey alone.
Lacey’s slender build and sleek hairstyle stood out against the tan uniform. Her shoulders were set firm and she had a strong grip on her pen hovering over the notepad.
She began with my name, address and other formalities and then said, “Tell me everything that happened from the time you left your apartment until the time you called 911.”
I recounted how I’d seen the clump of seaweed and how I tapped his boot with my running shoe, how I tried to wake him both verbally and by shaking him. I explained that even though he was pale and eyes open, unblinking, I hoped he was sleeping and I tried to wake him. I stopped and shivered slightly.
I took a sip of my coffee in an attempt to clear the lump in my throat.
“Okay. Tell me Molly, what do you serve in your café?”
I gave a detailed description of my café and how it was more than a coffeehouse. How we served pastries, sandwiches, and ice cream. And that it had a book nook. What does any of this have to do with anything? I wondered.
She asked about all of my employees. I told her about them all. When I mentioned Erica, I don’t know why I didn’t tell her about her argument with the now-dead fisherm
an. And how upset she was afterward. I can remember that later, I reasoned. I wanted to speak to Erica first.
Maybe she caught a look in my eyes, because she asked, “Did Jim ever work at the café? Or with anyone there?” I swallowed hard and realized I had no obligation to reveal anything that I knew or didn’t in the case, unless I was certain they were hard facts.
“No, he never worked there. I’m not sure who my employees hang around with.”
She nodded but didn’t look convinced. Detective Lacey asked a few random questions. “What time passed between when you found him and when you called 911?”
“I don’t know. Not even three minutes, maybe.”
“How did you know for sure he was dead?
“Um. He wasn’t moving. He was blue and cold, and his eyes were staring up.” I felt a shiver run through my body. “And I felt for a pulse. There wasn’t any.”
“How did you know he was blue? It was dark outside, wasn’t it?”
“I used my cell flashlight and checked him out.”
“Hmm.”
A light pink blush warmed my cheeks. What did that mean? What was going on? Suddenly the small room felt like a tiny shoebox.
She glanced at her notebook, and then her vivid brown eyes looked at me. “You didn’t try CPR?
The dispatcher said you didn’t try to revive him.”
“He was gone already.” I wiggled in my metal chair, but it and the table were bolted to the floor.
Detective Lacey nodded. She seemed satisfied with my answers. “Thanks for coming in.” She flashed me a grin, like she was trying to placate me.
I took the hint and stood up.
Before I turned around, the door opened, and deputies Lucky Powell and Ted Walker entered.
“All finished?” Ted asked.
Detective Dawn Lacey nodded and repeated, “Thank you again for your time, Ms. Brewster. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, here’s one of my cards. If you think of anything else at all, please call me.”
“I will,” I promised.
Deputy Ted turned to Lacey and they talked in a low whisper, while Deputy Lucky walked me out.
“Hi Mo,” Deputy Lucky smiled warmly at me.
