Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series)
Page 18
“The sharp jabs will stop. Of course, you’ll keep thinking about him every day until one day you realize that yesterday you didn’t think about him. The grief doesn’t end there, but it’s a start.”
That stopped her.
“What did you just say?”
He repeated his statement.
“You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
“My wife, three years ago.
“So your life was instantly turned upside down. And your entire future totally changed.”
He nodded.
“Yes, I had started to dream,” she said softly. “I felt I was moving into a future beyond anything I’d expected. Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time.”
“Then your dream has died also. You have the right to grieve about the loss of that dream, as well.”
“My grief isn’t constant. It seems to flow in and out.” She leaned forward. “Was it that way with you?”
“And I’d get a choking feeling, where I couldn’t get my breath.” They were now staring, waiting for the other to speak. “You ever get the feeling that you’re waiting—”
She quickly finished the sentence for him, “—for someone who’s never going to show up?”
“Exactly.”
“And you’re here telling me it will all pass,” she said. “I am looking forward to getting busy again.”
“You should take a little break first. You ever spend any time in the Palm Beaches? I know you’re not from Florida. I thought maybe you’ve never been down there.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just thinking you’re due for a vacation.” He shifted awkwardly in the chair. “I could meet you down there.”
Geez, was he going to ruin it all by coming on to her? “Pardon me, but your badge is showing.”
“No, absolutely personal. And nothing heavy. I live down there. I could show you around.”
“You and me?” He was on dangerous ground.
“Getting away from Park Beach and loosening up down there would be good for you.”
“I’m still wearing black.”
“And you can keep wearing black as long as you like, even in West Palm Beach.”
“What’s your first name...Conrad?”
“Connie, friends call me Connie.”
“Nice offer, Connie, but I wouldn’t want to distract you from your work.”
“Too late to think about that.”
Somehow, the way he was talking didn’t sound intrusive or inappropriate. Maybe he was being sincere, but his timing was lousy. “Bring me back four hundred grand and we’ll talk.”
“Someone told me you are priceless.” He bounced his eyebrows up and down like a comedian.
She laughed. This was all right. She relaxed. She was coming back to life. “Honestly, I don’t believe I’ll be ready to socialize for a while.”
“I’m going to give you my personal phone number. Just stick it in a drawer somewhere.” He wrote the number on the back of his FBI card and handed it to her. “My knees are getting weak.”
“Well, wobble out of here and get to work.” She gave him a nice wave goodbye. He passed Martin coming in.
“I didn’t expect you in the office today, Sandy. What did Mr. FBI want?”
“Offering condolences and more or less bringing us up to date. I believe they’re way off. At the proper time, I want to brief them on everything we’ve uncovered in West Palm. But for the time being, I don’t want to be stepping over them down there.” It felt good sitting at her desk again. She’d been away too long. “Being busy helps not thinking of how lost I feel. I really must get back to work. I have the Belcorp suit going to trial on the first. Our extortion trail has no doubt gone cold down there in West Palm. We might have to start all over.”
“I believe you should wait,” he said. “Are you sure you’re in the mood to do anything? The bad guys will wait until you feel better.”
“The bad guys are spending more of our money every day. I can either get back to work or go batty.” She started straightening the papers on her desk and picked up the pile of mail.
“Don’t worry about that mail. I’ve been all through it. Nothing there that can’t wait. Someplace in there is a report Jaworski brought over.”
“I can’t sit around and grieve all day. If I were a painter, wouldn’t you encourage me to pick up my brushes? Hey, I’m ready to roll.” She set the mail aside. “Thanks for going through all that. Where’s the report from Jaworski? Oh, here it is.”
She read for a minute, then abruptly stopped and held the report up for Martin to see. “You know what this is? Remember when we first came across Tonya Rhodes? Jaworski checked her out and found she had a record for manslaughter? Well, I asked if he could get her twenty-year-old arrest record from Kentucky. Looks like he found it. Probably a waste of time.”
Martin sat in the oversized brown leather chair across from her. She started reading aloud.
“Listen to this. Victim was Clyde Steward, that has to be the boss she said tried to rape her. Eighteen-year-old perpetrator...claimed self-defense. That sounds right. Cause of death...gunshot wound to the head...wait...this has to be the wrong report. Tonya told me she pushed him—he struck his head—an accident.”
She finished reading, dropped the report on her desk and frowned at Martin with raised eyebrows. “She shot the guy in the head while robbing him and got off with manslaughter. There was a witness.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Says here, the witness states suspect knocked the victim to the ground and was searching through his pockets. When he fought back, she put a gun to his head. She claimed he was trying to rape her, and she was fighting for the gun to save her life. Tonya told me she pushed her boss in his apartment while fighting to save her honor. Not so, she tried to rob some guy and shot him in the head!”
“Now you’re thinking she’s Jane.”
“Well, it doesn’t make her Jane, but she certainly suckered me. I bought her sad story about an eighteen-year-old fighting off a wicked boss.”
“If she were Jane, wouldn’t she have tried to keep her connection with Boyd hidden, instead of telling you he worked for Bristol Trucking?”
“And more importantly, would she permit me to run around West Palm asking questions? If Tonya were Jane, wouldn’t I be long-time dead by now?
Her phone buzzed. So many people she scarcely knew had been calling. Most, however, didn’t know her mobile number. She couldn’t immediately place the familiar voice. “Who? Oh, Ryan Cramer, yes! How are you? I hope you’re not still in jail. Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t been in to see you. Something came up.”
“Sandy, nice to hear your voice. No, I’m fine. They didn’t have any solid evidence against me. I’m still under arrest, but Angela was able to get me a new hearing. I’m out on bail.”
“That's great. I’m glad you told me.”
“I called to say how sorry I am that you lost your...very close friend. I just found out. Detective Dominic mentioned it to me. I hope you’re all right.”
She thought back to the words she’d said to him in his jail cell: ...your own life hasn’t been destroyed. This will pass. You’ll get it all together again. You’ll move on. Eventually, there might be someone new in your life. You’re too good to be passed up. So you’ve been beaten up pretty badly. Nothing says you’re going to lose again.
“Well, thanks for your concern, Ryan. I hope you’re doing okay.” She looked over at Martin and shrugged, wondering what the call was all about. “Let me ask about your sister—Gail Cramer Holman. Right?”
Martin, who had been slumped in his desk chair, sat up when he heard the name and leaned in to listen.
“My sister...what? You sure you want to talk about this?”
“I’m getting back to work, Ryan.” She looked across at Martin and grinned. “And she’s not married, right? I heard she works at the concierge desk at the Gardens Mall. Now how in hell can she afford the Magnolia Palms con
do?”
Ryan answered, “I asked about that when she first started talking about buying a condo. She said her claim against her husband’s estate was finally settled, and she won a sizable settlement. Her husband died in a boating accident and his family blamed her. I remember her husband was quite wealthy, and she complained about his family cutting her out of his estate. I thought it was ancient history. I didn’t realize there was any lawsuit pending. She said it was so long ago she never expected anything from it. I didn’t press the subject further. None of my business.”
“Ryan, was that lawsuit in Florida?”
“Well, they all lived in Florida.”
“Okay, think hard. Is there any other way Gail could have obtained a large amount of money?”
“She doesn’t move in those kinds of circles. You should see where she used to live.”
“I have seen where she used to live. She seeing anyone?” Sandy thought she already knew the answer to that question.
“Not anymore. She broke up with some married guy. Myra told me Gail was really excited about him for some time. I forget his name. Do you really need to drag her into this?”
Sandy already knew the man’s name. The used car dealer. She had his business card the comical neighbor had given her. “Would the married guy have set up Gail in the condo apartment?”
“No way. I believe his wife has the money and he plays at being in business,” Ryan said. “I’m staying with Gail. I’m there now.”
“Is she home?”
“No, but she’s not going to talk with you anyway. She already told me.”
“I’m curious as to why she won’t talk with me. Doesn’t she know I’m on your side?”
“She said that I’ve enough trouble without getting my affairs mixed up with some murder in Park Beach.”
Sandy’s stomach instantly turned into one large throbbing glob. She couldn’t believe what she just heard. She started speaking rapidly, “Who mentioned Park Beach? Did she mention Park Beach?”
Martin, who had been sitting quietly listening to Sandy’s side of the conversation, abruptly straightened in his chair.
Ryan said, “Yes, that’s where you’re from isn’t it?”
“What’s this about a murder in Park Beach?” She had trouble getting the words out. “You mean the shooting of my friend?”
Martin jumped out of his chair and was now waving his hands. He started writing something.
Ryan said, “No, I just found out about that myself. She meant some other murder, I guess. Said I shouldn’t get involved. That’s all she said about it.”
Martin was now shaking the note in her face. WHAT ARE HER HOURS?
“Ryan...uh...hold on.” She shrugged at the note, and said, “What are her hours?”
“Whose hours?” Ryan asked. “You mean Gail...at the mall? She works the day shift, nine-thirty to six. Been there a long time—has seniority.”
Sandy repeated the hours and looked at Martin who nodded.
When she had thanked him and hung up, he said, “Did he say what I think he said about a murder in Park Beach?”
“Yeah. How does Gail know about the murder of Boyd? We told no one except Dominic.”
“Maybe Gail is Jane,” he observed. “After all, she did end up with the money.”
“That money might not be ours. Ryan said she just settled a lawsuit against her husband’s estate, and that’s where her money came from. I’m going to check that out...see if there was such a lawsuit and whether she won.”
“Do you trust this Ryan?”
“I suppose I do. He’s a hard-working, moral guy who tried to stand by his cheating wife until the end. Now his business is ruined and he must start over. He did upscale landscaping for commercial properties, mainly condos. Probably pretty good, had a great business. Why do you ask?”
“And you’re positive he didn’t shoot her.”
“Martin, he’s one of the good guys. Why?”
“Maybe I can throw some business his way. Do you have his card?”
She fumbled through her briefcase and found the card. “That would be nice of you.”
“I’m going down there to talk with her,” he said.
“You? Gail?”
“She won’t talk with you, so I’m going. I’ll meet her and get her talking. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“That’s what General Custer said.” Still not too bad of an idea, she thought. “Oh, I get it. That’s why you wanted to know the hours she works.”
“Sure. I’ll follow her home. If she stops someplace, I’ll follow her in and start talking with her.”
“And she’s going to talk with you?”
“Most women would.”
“I admire your confidence, and I’m sure she’ll say something to you. But it won’t be a confession about how she pulled off a kidnapping and extortion, not to mention a murder,” she said. “What if she doesn’t stop anyplace going home?”
“Then I’ll go to her condo and make up a story, have the guard phone her and inform her that she ran into my car...or something,” he said.
“I must admit you’re catching on. Nevertheless, we know almost nothing about the woman and you’re going down there to get sensitive information out of her? Ryan says she was critical of Myra cheating on him, yet she wanted to hear every sexy detail of the affair. That sounds a little quirky. And we don’t know if she’s a hot number or a religious fanatic. Could be dangerous. Could be a murderer, you know. She spots your license plate, sees that you’re from Park Beach, decides things are getting too hot and leaves you in a ditch.”
“Danger is my middle name,” he quipped.
“Without question, you are sweetly dangerous around women, but that’s not the benign danger I’m talking about. I’ve noticed you’ve no problem interacting with women. You seem to have mastered the laws of attraction.”
He chuckled, “You exaggerate, but nevertheless I’m flattered that you’ve taken the time to study me.”
“Oh, I’ve studied you.” Much more than he’d ever realize. “You project an aura of honesty that women are quick to pick up on. As soon as they realize you’ve no guile, they shed their defenses and usually anything else you’d like them to shed. In short, there’s a wide spectrum of womanhood awaiting you out there, even though you’ve no desire to pursue any of them.”
“Nonsense, only the last part of your statement is true.”
She was certain he could become friendly with Gail Holman, but would it be a waste of time? “She’ll be reluctant to pour her heart out to you, if she’s trying to hide the fact that she just murdered someone and stole four hundred grand. And if she believes you’re on to her, she’ll simply shoot you and claim you were stalking her.”
She hoped that in exercising his newly found spirit of adventure, he didn’t lose all the delightful soft edges of his personality “I don’t know, Martin, you’re a clever fellow, maybe going down might be a good idea. Wait until Monday and I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t need you down there. I just wish this investigative work didn’t require having to lie to get information out of people.”
“Of course, you’ll have to lie to her, or lie with her to get her talking. Maybe both.”
“I trust you’re jesting. I’ve no intention of adding seduction to my ever-increasing repertoire of investigative techniques.”
“If your objective were to simply go down there and seduce her, I wouldn’t worry about you,” she laughed. “But even if you soften her up with romance, you can’t interrupt one of her spasms of passion and ask if she’s guilty. Invariably, you need to use some kind of deception to get information out of someone who doesn’t want to give it.”
“I’ve been watching you in action. I have your act down pretty well. I’ll put a move on her and she won’t know what hit her.”
“Before you put that move on her, be sure to run your hand under her pillow and check for a gun.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Gail had mentioned a Park Beach murder to her brother. Where had that come from? From the start, she had refused to talk with Sandy about any of the happenings, which was suspicious in itself. Martin was confident she’d talk with him, if she believed he was a total stranger. He intended to go beyond that. He intended to be the perfect stranger. He considered learning something useful about the murder worth taking the chance of any possible danger.
He arrived shortly before five o’clock, drove to the back of the huge building and located the parking area near the secondary entrance. He had the vehicle registration information on her and quickly located her green Ford in one of the first parking spaces near the rear entrance as he’d expected. Ryan had said his sister worked the day shift, nine-thirty to six; and since the mall didn’t open until ten o’clock, arriving employees would have their choice of parking.
He parked away from her car in the area between Saks Fifth Avenue and Bloomingdale’s. He walked in the rear entrance and raised his eyes; the vast mall had two shopping levels under a four-story high ceiling. He noted from the Mall Directory that the Concierge desk was located far to his right inside the main entrance, in the center of the walkway near Abercrombie and Finch. As he neared the walkway running from the front entrance, he looked again at the photo on her driver’s license printout.
Ahead in the center of the wide intersecting aisles was the semi-circular Concierge desk. Gail was talking to an older couple and was pointing to a brochure spread out in front of them. What did Gail look like? Much better looking than her license photo and younger than he’d expected—barely thirty, he’d guess. Long dark-brown hair and a rather pale complexion. She seemed nice and tall but he couldn’t really tell; she might have been standing on a box behind that counter. She also wore green hoop earrings at least ten sizes too large, which detracted from her attractive face.