The Black Palmetto

by Paul Carr

  Simone's smile leaked away. “Okay, suit yourself. I'm turning in after I watch the news, so be quiet when you get back.”

  He looked at her lounging there in her short nightie, and wished he had accepted the drink offer. It could have turned out that Karl with a “K” didn't mean as much to her as she'd let on. Too late now. The moment had passed. She pulled the sheet over her legs and turned the TV on with the remote.

  “Yeah, I'll do that,” he said and strode out the door, closing it behind him.

  A few minutes later he turned into the driveway leading to Chopin's and parked. Floodlights illuminated the parking lot. On his way to the door he noticed a throng of people standing by a car toward the far corner of the lot. A couple of men wore police uniforms.

  “That's the guy,” a man said, pointing in Sam's direction.

  One of the officers turned, seemed to zero in on him, and hurried over.

  Uh oh. The dread returned, this time full blast. Something had happened to the man. Too late to run. He still had the gun in his holster, the butt sticking out. Maybe his shirttail covered it up.

  “You got some ID?” the officer asked. The nametag above his shirt pocket identified him as Lt. Lonnie Cates. Muscle bound, like a steroid freak, he stood a few inches shorter than Sam, had oily, slicked back hair, and a pencil-thin mustache that had taken some time in front of the mirror.

  Sam pulled out his driver's license and handed it to Cates.

  The lieutenant studied it for a few moments. “You're from Miami?”

  “That's right. What's the problem?”

  Cates narrowed his eyes, stuck the license into his shirt pocket, and took Sam by the arm.

  “Come on. I'll show you what the problem is.”

  Cates' fingers dug into his arm. They reached the throng and the people parted. The man who wanted to meet him earlier lay on the ground between two cars. He looked dead. Another man knelt over him.

  “Chief Boozler,” Cates said to the kneeling man, “this is the guy. He could be a professional hit man.”

  The chief turned his head to stare at Cates, rolled his eyes and stood. Unlike the officer, he wore civilian clothes, stood over six feet, and carried a few extra pounds about the middle.

  “Don't you think it's kinda soon to be drawing conclusions, Lonnie?” Boozler asked.

  Cates' eyes darted to the people standing by. “Sure, Chief. Too early for that.”

  Boozler took the license and turned it so he could read it in the light of the floods. After a few seconds, he handed it back to Cates and glared at Sam.

  “This is Jake Bell,” the chief said, pointing to the man on the ground. “Somebody stabbed him. A witness saw you talking to him earlier this evening. Mind telling me what you were talking about?”

  Sam didn't see any reason to lie, at least for the most part.

  “I came here looking for a man.” He removed the photo from his shirt pocket and handed it to the chief. “His name is Sean Spanner. I showed the picture to the bar owner inside, and Mr. Bell here saw it. After we ate, he came up to me and said he knew something about Spanner. He said to meet him at the Blue Iguana in an hour, but he didn't show up. I came back here to see if I could find him.”

  Boozler nodded. “Why are you after this Spanner guy?”

  “He stole some money, and I came here to get it back.” Sam didn’t see any need to go into the stolen flash drive. The simpler the better at this point.

  “You a private detective?”

  “No, not a detective. Just a friend of the man who lost the money. Doing him a favor.”

  “Who is this man?”

  “Sorry, I'm not at liberty to say.”

  The chief clicked his tongue, turned his head for a moment, and fixed Sam with a stare.

  “Son, this man was just murdered, and his father has more money than anybody between Key West and Miami. I think you better come up with a name.”

  Sam shook his head. “Sorry. He had nothing to do with this man's death, and neither did I.”

  Boozler drew a deep breath, let it out, and turned toward Cates. Probably about to tell the officer to put the cuffs on him.

  “You're wasting your time asking me about this,” Sam said. “My guess is that someone did something to Spanner for the money I mentioned, and killed Jake Bell because he knew about it.”

  The chief narrowed his eyes. “That assumes what you're telling me is the truth. Since you won't come clean about who you're working for, I'm not inclined to believe anything else you say.”

  “Listen, Chief, my girlfriend is back at the motel. She's was with me from the time I left this place until a few minutes ago when I came back to see why Jake didn't show up. You can call her if you want.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it up.

  Boozler seemed to consider that for a moment and nodded. “Okay, ring her up.”

  When Simone answered, Sam said, “Honey, the man who was supposed to meet me was killed outside the bar where we were earlier. I know, that's terrible. Yes, the Chief of Police is standing here, and he wants to ask you some questions.”

  Simone picked up right away on the conversation. She knew what to say. Sam handed the phone to Boozler, who introduced himself and began with the questions. A couple of minutes later, he thanked her and handed the phone back.

  Sam dropped it into his pocket. “So, okay if I go?”

  Cates, who had been listening a few feet away, said, “You're not going anywhere until you answer the chief's questions.”

  Boozler glared at him, shook his head then turned back. “Yeah, you can go, but you can't leave town. I need that photo you showed me and any information you have about the guy.”

  He handed over the photo. Simone had a duplicate, so he didn't care about parting with this one. The chief wrote down Spanner’s name and car model, along with Sam's phone number, in a pocket-sized pad.

  “Okay, give him his license, Lonnie.”

  Lieutenant Lonnie Cates stared at Sam for a couple of beats, his thin lips pursed. He adjusted his gun belt before taking the license from his pocket and handing it to Sam.

  Sam turned to head back to his car. When he did, he saw the woman who’d been sitting with Jake Bell earlier inside the restaurant. She stared for a moment then someone stepped into his line of vision. By the time the person passed by, she’d disappeared, so Sam went toward his car.

  The woman caught up with him. “Hey, I know you didn't kill Jake. I saw you leave with your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah? Why didn't you say something about it to the chief?”

  She smiled. “I thought you were doing pretty well.” Her large eyes shone blue in the glow of the floodlights, her lips like ripe strawberries. Something fluttered inside Sam's chest.

  Chapter Three

  The woman held out her hand. “I’m Lora Diamond. I work for the local newspaper.”

  Newspapers usually blabbed too much about things they shouldn't.

  He shook her hand. “Sam Mackenzie. You a reporter?”

  She nodded. “You want to get a cup of coffee and talk about what happened here tonight? There's an all-night diner over on US-1.”

  He didn't need to become part of a news story, even for a beautiful reporter, but maybe Jake Bell told her something.

  “As long as you don't mention my name anywhere.”

  Lora raised an eyebrow. “Why do you have a problem with that?”

  “I don't want to be in the papers, that's all.”

  She gave him a sardonic smile. “I could just go with what I already have. Stranger in town. Spoke with the victim a little while before he was killed. That would get everybody’s attention.”

  “Yeah, you could do that. Probably wouldn't be in your best interest, though.”

  She backed up a step and glanced in the direction of the police. “Why, what would you do?”

  Sam smiled. “I wouldn't do anything, but the man I'm working for might shut down your newspaper.”

  “Who is this guy
you work for?”

  “Sorry that's all I can say about it.”

  “Ah, I get it,” she said, grinning, “this is some kind of government thing.”

  “No comment.”

  “Okay, you win. No names. I'll even let you clear the story. How about it?”

  Maybe she'd keep her word. He hoped so, because he did want to talk to her. “I guess that sounds okay.”

  ****

  They left in separate cars, and Sam followed her to the diner, which sat across the road from the beach. Only one person seemed to work the night shift. The waitress served the counter and the booths, and maybe even cooked in the back.

  After ordering coffee, Lora took out her notebook and laid it on the table. “So, what can you tell me that isn't classified?”

  Sam smiled. “Why don't you tell me what you know about Sean Spanner?”

  “I don't know anything about him. Jake seemed anxious to tell you something about the guy, but when I asked him what it was, he wouldn't say.”

  “Did you leave before he did?”

  “We went out to the parking lot at the same time, a minute or so after you left. He said he had to talk to you about something at the motel, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. I waited before pulling out, so he wouldn’t see me, and then I drove to the Blue Iguana, hoping to eavesdrop on your conversation. When Jake didn’t show, I went back to Chopin’s in case he showed up there again. I got there just a few minutes ahead of you, and the police were already there, standing over his dead body.”

  “You don't seem too shook up about it.”

  “What? Oh, Jake and I weren't dating if that's what you think. I met him at Chopin's to get some information for a story about a big development his father is building in Marathon.”

  “Did you get it?”

  “Some of it, but when you came in and flashed that photo, he got quiet and didn't say much after that.”

  She tried to get him to tell more about why he was searching for Spanner, and Sam told her about the cash.

  “And that's it? He stole some money and you're trying to get it back? That doesn't sound much like government work to me.”

  She grinned when she said it, and he thought she might be loosening up.

  “I never said anything about the government. You did.”

  “Yeah, but you led me to believe I was right.”

  “Sorry about that, but I really can't say any more about it.”

  Lora pushed back from the table and crossed her arms. “I guess that about does it, then.”

  Sam didn't want her to leave, telling himself that she might know something else of value. “What keeps a newspaper reporter busy in a town like this?”

  After taking a sip of coffee, she said, “There's more going on here than you'd think. We had a murder here a couple of months ago. I wrote four stories on it.”

  “What happened?”

  “A man’s body was found over on the highway, stabbed in the chest. Nobody could identify him.”

  “You seem pretty matter-of-fact about it,” Sam said, “like that sort of thing doesn't bother you.”

  She frowned. “Oh, it bothered me at first. It was the biggest thing to happen here in a long time. No one could remember anyone ever being murdered on Iguana Key. They never found the killer.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Sam checked his watch. 10:35 p.m. “You have any ideas about who could have killed Jake?”

  She gave him a stare. “Not a clue. Maybe it had something to do with what he planned to tell you.”

  Maybe it did. “I'd like to see the stories you wrote about the other murder.”

  “You think the same person killed Jake?”

  Maybe it had nothing to do with Spanner, but two murders so close together in this backwater town seemed suspicious.

  “Could be.”

  She checked her watch. “It's too late tonight, but I could get the issues for you tomorrow if you drop by the newspaper office.”

  Sam smiled. “Don't you keep copies at home?”

  Raising an eyebrow, she said, “Yeah, but I don't know you. You think I'm going to take you to my house?”

  “It was worth a try.”

  A smile teased at the corner of her mouth. She stared for a moment. “Okay, why not. You seem pretty harmless. But you have to tell me something else about this guy you're searching for.”

  “Sounds like a good trade.”

  ****

  Sam followed her about a mile down US-1. They turned right and rode another half-mile to a subdivision. In the dark it looked like a development from the 1940's and 50's. Cabana-style homes built with painted cinder blocks. Mature palms dotted the front lawns. No garages or carports.

  Lora turned into a driveway, pulled the car behind the house, and stopped. A light inside a screened porch cast a glow on her car and the back yard. They got out, and she went through the screened porch and in the back door. Sam followed her inside past an entrance hall to the kitchen.

  “Have a seat and I'll get the stories. How about a drink?”

  “Sure, if you have a beer.”

  Nodding, she opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles.

  “Glass?”

  “No, bottle's fine.”

  She handed one to him, opened her own, and disappeared down the hall.

  Sam twisted off the cap, drank down a third of the bottle and sat. The kitchen had no plaques with homey slogans on the wall, no magnets or photos on the refrigerator, no napkins or salt and pepper shakers on the table. The stovetop and sink had a layer of dust on their surfaces. It all appeared as if she’d just moved in. A coffee pot sat on the counter in the corner. It had some leftover brew in the decanter, so she’d used that.

  “Here they are,” she said, stepping back into the kitchen. She sat across from him at the table and laid several news clippings in front of him.

  Scanning through them, he learned little more than what she’d told him in the diner. The man had been stabbed with a knife and left in a ditch on a road a hundred yards or so from the Overseas Highway. Lieutenant Lonnie Cates was quoted as saying the man probably had been homeless, unkempt and wearing dirty clothes, and he might have gotten into a squabble with another homeless person. The victim had what looked like jailhouse tattoos on his arms and legs. Nothing in the stories told him anything about who the killer might be.

  “The police didn't have any theory about the killer's identity?”

  “If they did, they wouldn't tell me about it. I got the impression they didn't know anything, and didn't want to go to the expense of an investigation for a homeless man.”

  He sighed, finished his beer, and studied her face. She was even more beautiful now in this light, her hair black as ink, eyes a deep blue, flawless skin.

  Her eyebrow inched up. Probably watching the gears turn inside his head.

  “Time for you to go. I have to send in my report on Jake's murder and get up early tomorrow.”

  Sam smiled and stood. “Yeah, I guess it is time to go.”

  “Before you leave, you promised to tell me something else about Sean Spanner.”

  Hmmm. He'd hoped she would forget about that.

  “Let's see. The police took the photo I had, but I can give you a description.” He described the man and she wrote it down in her pad.

  “Okay, that's good, but I assumed you'd give me something else about why he's here.”

  “That's a good question. I don't know why he's here. I just know he left Miami a couple days ago, and I can only assume he came here to see somebody about hiding him.”

  Something rattled outside the door.

  “You hear that?” Sam asked.

  “What?”

  “There was a noise on the porch.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Hey, is this a ploy to get me to ask you to stay.”

  “No, I heard something.”

  He went through the dimly-lit entrance hall and tried to peer through the glass of the back door. The porch la
y in darkness. He flipped the light switch, but it didn’t work.

  Stepping back to the kitchen, he said, “You have a flashlight?”

  Lora reached into a cabinet and pulled one out. Returning to the entry hall with his gun drawn, he opened the door and eased out to the darkness.

  He splashed the light on the screen door. It hung ajar. Turning to see what had happened to the porch light, he sensed movement to his right. Someone slapped the flashlight from his hand, and Sam spun and kicked with his right foot. His shoe brushed cloth, but nothing else. A split second later the silhouette of a man burst out the screen door. Sam ran out behind him and up the drive to the street. He couldn't see anything in the dark, and heard only the crunch of his own footfalls on the gravel. A car started somewhere down the block, and when he got to the street it was gone. Back in the house, he told Lora what had happened, his pulse still thumping in his ears.

  “You're just trying to scare me. I never heard anything.”

  “No, I'm not. Somebody was out there.”

  “Okay, I'll call the police.” Frowning, she picked up her phone from the table, dialed 911, and told the operator she thought she had a prowler. She closed the phone and said, “They're coming out, so you can go now.”

  The time for friendly conversation had passed. Now she just wanted him gone.

  “Okay, but I still want to clear the story before you print it.”

  “That's fine. I'll send in a quick write-up about Jake's murder for the morning edition, and save the bigger story for the next day. You can drop by the paper tomorrow afternoon and check it out.”

  Chapter Four

  Before Sam could use the key, Simone swung the door open. She stood there in the short nightie, the gun hanging down by her side. A pretty sexy pose, but she probably hadn't intended it that way. She seemed oblivious to her attraction on men. He entered and closed the door behind him. The room felt frigid.

  “Where've you been? I thought they must've arrested you.”

  He didn't want to get into another discussion about Lora Diamond.

  “I spoke with a reporter after the police let me go.”

  “Why would you do that?”