I knew exactly where it was. Red Fish, Blue Fish was one of Dennis’s favorite places. He said he loved their tequila lime mahi mahi, but I suspected it was really about the fisherman hotties who were always on the docks next to the restaurant. It was also close to The Alibi.
“So it looks like you travel a lot.”
“My parents sent me to Europe one summer when I was in high school. Travel’s been in my system ever since.”
“Where’s your favorite place?”
“I love going scuba diving. There’s this place in Mexico, where you can explore underwater caves. The oxygen in the water is so high that sharks go there to sleep. They don’t have to move. The oxygen rushes over their gills.”
I wasn’t so sure I was buying that story, not in the age of global warming and pollution. I also didn’t think swimming with sharks was such a good idea. It was like inviting them to dinner.
“What about you, have you been anyplace exciting?”
I shook my head. “I went to camp near Ocala once. Other than that, I’m not a traveler. My mom works on a cruise ship, though; she might know about the cave you’re talking about.”
“Any place you want to go?”
“The Little Big Horn.”
He just stared at me.
“I like history.”
“I’m more of a doer, not so much a reader.” He winked at me. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable. Sit down, relax. I’ll put a little music on, and then we can really get to know each other.”
Something a little more comfortable? If Al Green came pouring out of his stereo, I might have to reconsider my plan and get the hell out of there.
His absence gave me a chance to look around. It made sense to me that he was the one who set Jim up. I didn’t think Jim had embezzled anything. Not that he was above it. I just thought it was something he’d have no patience for. Jim was all about immediate gratification. Would he stick his hand in a big bag of money? Yes. I had no doubts about that. But would he be prepared to embark on an endeavor that wouldn’t have a payoff for a few weeks, months, or years? I don’t think so. That wasn’t the Jim I knew.
There was no way I could check Damon’s computer. I didn’t know his mother’s maiden name or his birthday, and there was no sign of a pet. I’d never be able to guess his password.
As silently as I could, I began to look through his drawers, from his desk to the tables in his living room. Then I realized the answer was right in front of me. It was on his key ring.
A jump drive.
I grabbed them and pulled it off as quietly as I could. Hey, I’d already stolen a dead man’s guest book; I wasn’t above taking this.
I was sitting on the couch when he came back into the room, although I don’t know if he was dressed comfortably. He’d changed into tight black jeans and a black t-shirt that appeared to be a little too tight. I think Damon was trying too hard. In his defense, had Rick been wearing the same outfit, I might not have been so critical. But of course, Rick wasn’t afraid of color. I doubt if he would’ve gone all Johnny Cash at the end of the evening.
“So Emma, why did you decide to call me?”
Because I think you might be a killer. I’m not sure though, you might just be an embezzler. I’m hoping the jump drive I stole from you has a typed confession on it.
“You seemed nice.”
“Nice?” He pulled me close to him. I could smell his breath. He’d just downed something minty fresh. I hadn’t. No kissing for me. “Are you sure there wasn’t something else?”
“You said that you were interested in buying me a drink so—”
BAAM! He was all hands and lips. I made my mouth a fortress.
“You don’t have to be shy with me, Emma. I know what you want.”
He wanted to slide his serpent tongue down my throat, and I was still Emma.
He started to go in for another kiss, and I jumped up. “Damon I have to get home, I can’t believe this.”
He looked puzzled, which was exactly what I wanted. “What?”
“I’m cat-sitting for my neighbor. I have to get home to give him his shot. This cat, you wouldn’t believe it, he’s like a hundred-years-old, and on a ton of medication. If I don’t get home to give him that shot in…” I checked my watch, “fifteen minutes, he could go into convulsions and puke all over my floor. I’m sorry to ruin our night. You understand, don’t you?”
He was dazed. I was sure no woman had ever used cat barf as a way to get out of his apartment before. “Sure. Let me get my keys.”
I held my breath. He picked them up and led me out the door.
I chattered nonstop all the way home. I felt a tiny bit bad for Damon. First I told him about Dani’s imaginary stomach issues and then all the way home he heard all about my imaginary neighbor’s imaginary cat’s imaginary health problems.
“It seems a little cruel to let the cat go on suffering.” He said as he got to my door.
Great. Now he wanted to put the imaginary cat to sleep. What kind of man was he?
“Ms. Boyd is in her seventies and I don’t think she can bear to put him down just yet. Thanks for being so understanding. I’ll find away to make it up to you.”
“I have an idea how.”
Oh, I just bet you do.
“You work at the newspaper. You have connections. I’m an up and comer, someone who should be watched. I think I’d make a great story. Maybe you could hook me up with someone.” He leaned into me. “I’d make it worth YOUR while.”
He gave me a wink and wave before he pulled away.
Damon was working under a common assumption; a girl with chub was a desperate girl and would do anything for a little lovin’. I was so not that girl. I would prefer that people not see me naked.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The minute I got inside my apartment, I went straight to my closet. I’ve seen Mission: Impossible. I knew the dress code. It was like funeral dress, only more superhero.
I had my black tennis shoes and my black sweatsuit. It was quite cute with pink and periwinkle piping down the leg. I’d bought it expressly for working out with Dennis but had never worn it. His workouts were sweaty and I never looked pretty afterwards. I just couldn’t justify smelling up something so adorable. I put my hair up into the I’m-going-spyin’ ponytail under a black baseball cap. I hoped no one noticed I was wearing a Broadway cap and WICKED was written in big neon letters across the front. It didn’t really go with my pink and periwinkle piping.
I parked two blocks from the docks. I figured a lone person strolling along the beach wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion. Not that anyone would notice me. The bars along the beach were packed with people.
It wasn’t long until I got to the docks. Lights from Red Fish, Blue Fish spilled over to the first row of boats, and I imagine if I got close enough, I’d be able to hear the conversations of the people eating on the patio. Outside eating is something I never enjoyed. I didn’t want to sweat on my main course, and eating inside greatly reduced your chances of bug munching, but judging from their patio, some people like it. Tourists I’d bet.
Apparently Red Fish was trying to compete with some of the bars on the beach. A reggae band was playing out on the deck, and I found myself singing along with a reggae version of In the Ghetto. Who knew Elvis lent himself so well to a Caribbean beat? It was going to be in my head for days. Good thing I liked it.
I walked slowly along the first row of boats. I had studied the boat in the photo and I was pretty sure I could recognize it. It was an old houseboat. Honestly, it looked as if someone had sawed off the top of a camper and glued it to a pontoon. If I missed the green and blue highlights on the side, I was pretty sure the big monkey decal on the front would give it away. That was the thing that surprised me. While Brant might be a monkey kinda guy, Damon certainly wasn’t. I had to assume the monkey was on the camper prior to its being plopped on the boat. I hoped Brant hadn’t made any decorative changes.
I
was getting closer to the restaurant, which made me a little nervous. I was happy with my decision not to grease up my face like a commando. A chubby girl in a Wicked baseball cap, black clothing, and a greased-up face searching a houseboat with her little flashlight would definitely arouse suspicions. If the boat was close to Red Fish, I was screwed. I’d have to go to Waffle World and hang out until all the drunks started rolling in, a sure sign every place else was closed.
I was one row away from Red Fish, my mouth watery with anticipation of the delights Waffle World had to offer, when I spotted my little monkey swinging in his palm tree. There was also a big “For Sale” sign posted. Brant was asking sixty thousand dollars. That seemed a little pricy to me for a camper boat. I had to assume Brant couldn’t afford both his instant family and this fine piece of machinery. I pulled the little info sheet from a canister that was next to the sign. Twin engines, two generators, fully furnished fly bridge, swimming deck, sleeps ten. I folded it up and stuck it in my pocket.
Getting on board was easy. I just stepped on the deck and climbed the ladder to the driver’s seat. Maybe as a lifelong Florida resident, I should be more in tune with the workings of boats. Not so. As an avid fan of Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, I had a pretty healthy fear of finned predators.
I took another ladder and found myself in the middle of the “house” part of the boat. Calling it a house was a joke. If trailer parks could be on water, this place would berth in lot number one.
There was just no excuse for green shag carpeting, not even in a trailer houseboat. The kitchen was small, and the bathroom was little more than a shower stall and a toilet. As for the “house,” it was one little sitting room, consisting of two rattan couches with orange cushions. I think it was safe to say Rachel-Ann would sooner die than step one pedicured foot on this boat.
So what was I looking for? I had no idea. That was the problem with being Miss Amateur Detective. It had been a while since I’d read a Nancy Drew book. I remembered Nancy was a little more brilliant than I, with her titian hair, blue convertible, and active social life. I had no idea what I needed to find, and there was always the chance I would find exactly what I needed and not even know it. Besides, the police had undoubtedly already been here looking for clues, so there probably weren’t any clues to find.
That didn’t stop me from getting on my hands and knees and checking the carpet for blood. If Jim had been murdered here, there might be blood on the carpet. Of course, what if there was a splotch of blood? What I was going to do then, buy a home CSI kit and run a few tests?
This was a boat; there had to be a knife around. I’d cut out the carpet and get it to the police for analysis. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a connection. I glanced around. There had to be lots of places to hide things here. I searched everything. I checked cushions, cabinets, and coolers. I found nothing exciting except for a few copies of Snatch magazine. That was one thing I didn’t get. I worked in the porn industry. I had accepted that, but why did all the slang always have to be so coarse and gross? In all my phone calls, I’d never used that word.
I climbed back up to “the bridge” and pulled up the seat cushions on the passenger side: a few life vests, fishing equipment, and a plastic accordion folder.
Plastic accordion folders are always interesting. Insurance papers, bank papers, boat repair receipts, the title, and—in the back file—photographs. Candid photographs of Jim at his pool with a scantily clad Kaz. Jim rubbing suntan oil on the same scantily clad Kaz. Jim kissing Kaz. Kaz taking off her bikini, and the one thing I didn’t need to see, full frontal Jim. Full “buttal” Jim wasn’t great to see either. There were even a few pictures of Wonder Woman Robin and Jim. Someone was keeping tabs on Jim’s extracurricular activities, and I was thinking that someone was Brant.
Behind the photos were photocopies of Jim’s financial statements, papers that showed he had drained his 401k, borrowed heavily from the bank, mortgaged his home. There was even a copy of his termination letter. It looked like Brant had known everything that was going on with Jim. I was beginning to believe Brant knew Jim was getting ready to ditch his old life and move on to something new. He might have even thought Kaz, Robin, maybe even Peyton were going to move on with him. It was a way to get in with Rachel-Ann. He could’ve killed Jim for the money Sonny had given him. It wasn’t millions, but to a guy who had a trailer for a houseboat, it was a lot. Getting rid of Jim would have brought him cash and the woman he loved. With Jim dead, he’d be in a position to save her.
I put the papers back in the folder and did my best to repack everything exactly as I’d found it. I was hoping Brant was a little flustered after the murder and wouldn’t remember if the blue life vest was on top of the red one, or the other way around.
While I’d been reading, the music had stopped, and Red Fish, Blue Fish was dark. Everything was dark along the dock. I didn’t see anyone around. I did my best to be quiet. The docks were actually kinda creepy. I could hear the water slapping against the boats, and occasionally a little bell or wind chimes would sing. All of which sounds real charming when you’re strolling hand in hand with your beloved, but when it’s dark, you’re the only person around, and you’re on the sneak, it’s a little scary. If this was a horror movie, the guy with the axe would jump out any moment.
I felt someone’s eyes on me. It could have been my imagination, but I didn’t want to stick around and find out. I crept along the dock as fast as I could, but I also wanted to be quiet as possible. It’s hard to run in stealth mode.
A man in black jumped off one of the boats and blocked my path. I did the only thing I could do. I took off running in the other direction. I may be chubby, but I can move fast when I have to run for my life.
It was a small marina, but I panicked, darting between boats, trying to lose whoever was behind me. It wasn’t working so far. He was right behind me. I turned a corner, passed a bigger boat, and for a few moments I knew he couldn‘t see me. I hid on board and waited. I was trembling but tried to control my breathing and convince myself that this was not a big deal. Every woman in Florida got chased down a dock by a man in a dark ski mask at least once in her life. Serial killers are the state mascot. This wasn’t a crisis. I just had to think.
I could hear his footsteps. He was close. I peeked over the side of the boat. He was looking at each vessel he passed, but he wasn’t going on board to inspect them. I crouched down, crawled across the deck of the boat and hid under a blue tarp that covered the captain’s chair. I couldn’t move. When he walked by, I couldn’t even breathe.
I sat there for awhile, listening for his footsteps. Something told me that guys in ski masks don’t give up as easily as you’d like them to. He’d come back and start looking at the boats a little more carefully. He might lift blue tarps. I waited until his footsteps were further up the dock. I slipped out from under the tarp and off the boat. I crunched down and crept down the dock. I was right next to the restaurant. There was no sign of him. Halfway down the dock, I started to run. I was sure I could make it to the street and then to my car, if I ran as fast as I could.
I was probably smiling when he tackled me. I was running up the stairs and almost at street level. If this attacking women thing didn’t work out for him, he had a career as a linebacker for the Tampa Bay Bucks. They needed a hard hitter. We both went tumbling off the wooden stairs and into the grass. He lost his grip on me and I took off running again.
This time he grabbed me by my neck and, just as I started to scream, his gloved hand crashed down on my mouth, nearly covering it. He was making it hard for me to breathe; screaming would be impossible. He had his other arm around my waist and was pulling me towards the Red Fish, Blue Fish.
Was this how it was going to end for me? Was my body going to be discovered in the trash bin with that night’s discarded appetizers? Every cop show I’d ever seen flashed through my mind. That was not going to happen to me.
I couldn’t freak out. That was important. He wa
s breathing heavily, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was shaking just a little. Maybe killing me was a little harder than killing Jim. Whoever kept her head was going to be the one who got out of this.
He had me in the alley. He moved his arm from my waist to my neck. What? Was he going to strangle me or snap my neck in two? I wasn’t waiting to find out. I raised my arm and elbowed him right in his solar plexus, not once but twice. He loosened his grip on me and I took that opportunity to kick him in the shin as hard as I could. Then I went for the groin. It was hard to get him from the position I was in, but get him I did. He let go of me. I turned to face him, and with all my might, I kicked him as hard as I could. He fell onto the ground. I kicked sand in his eyes and turned to run. He made an attempt to grab my ankle but missed, and I gave him two more kicks to the gut before taking off. I started to head for my car but stopped. My Spidey sense was tingling.
I turned and ran back down the docks. As silently as I could, I climbed down one of the boat’s ladders and went in the water. I’d rather be chum than have this guy get his hands on me again. I swam, keeping my head above water, and moved slowly under the dock until I was close to the restaurant. I clung to the closest pylon and watched as he stumbled out of the alley.
Yeah, I got him good.
Not that I got to feel smug for too long. He whirled around and looked at the dock and then at the street. He had no idea where I was. I couldn’t say for sure, because there was water in my ears, but I think I heard him swear.
Not long after he disappeared, I heard a car start and squeal down the road. I was pretty sure it was him.
I waited a little while longer before getting out of the water and heading back to my car. Better safe and smelling like dead fish than sorry and dead.
My car! My Spidey sense had been right. All four of my tires were flat, courtesy of my friend in black.
I looked up the street. Waffle World was like a beacon, the only bright spot in the world. It was also packed. Not only had my attacker screwed my ride, he was making me trudge into a breakfast paradise smelling like sea muck. But at least I could have a waffle while I waited for the tow truck.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 20
