Dying to Retire

by Jessica Fletcher

  “And people knew this about her?” I asked, thinking that if someone had evil intent, there would have been ample opportunities to get into Portia’s bag and pillbox.

  “I warned her she was going to get her wallet stolen one day. I always thought someone would be taking something out, not putting something in. I should never have let her be so cavalier. Why didn’t I think of it?” She was crying in earnest now, the tears falling faster than her wadded handkerchief could contain them.

  “Minnie, you can’t possibly think you’re to blame for Portia’s death.” I pulled a packet of tissues from my purse and gave it to her. “No one could have prevented this except the person who gave Portia the pills.”

  “I’m sorry to fall apart like this,” she said, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “The idea that Portia might have been killed—on purpose—is overwhelming. I just can’t believe that anyone hated her so much. She was so nice.” She looked at me hopefully. “Do you think it could have been an accident? Maybe someone thought they were doing her a favor, helping her to lose weight.”

  I shook my head sadly. “Everyone knew she had a heart condition. She made no secret of it. If someone gave Portia diet pills, that person intended to kill her. That’s no accident,” I said. “That’s murder.”

  Chapter Ten

  I pulled open the heavy glass door to DeWitt Wainscott Enterprises, and walked inside. In the center of the reception area was a large table on which was a model of Foreverglades, its pink buildings rendered in miniature, down to the white-painted grilles on the terraces and the concrete walkways in the courtyards. I paused, fascinated by the detail of the model, and walked around the plastic box that covered the display. Next to the blue paint that represented the bay were three tall white structures, dwarfing their pink neighbors. Due to the angle of the spotlight shining down from the ceiling, long shadows were cast over them. In addition to the three high-rises, several smaller blocks occupied space on the property, as well as a swath of beach made from what looked like real sand. On the model, the gazebo and boardwalk I’d trodden a few days ago were missing, but the dock was considerably enlarged, with tiny yachts anchored to the new pier. A ribbon draped around the top of the model buildings said WAINSCOTT TOWERS AT FOREVERGLADES.

  It occurred to me that the model made an authoritative statement. It presented the proposed construction as a fait accompli, something already established, not merely the vision of the developer. It said, “This is what will be,” not, “This is something to consider.” I thought of Portia tilting at windmills, fighting people who had more power, influence, and money than she could ever hope to secure. But could her persistence as a gadfly, constantly circling the ears of the developer, have irritated someone enough to call for her extermination?

  “Good afternoon,” a voice said from behind me. “May I help you?”

  I turned to see Amelia’s sister-in-law, Marina. She was a broad woman in her late forties, her long red hair braided and twisted into a chignon. She was dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, white blouse with a floppy bow at the neck, and high-heeled sandals, the shoes making her pitch slightly forward as she walked, spoiling the corporate image she was trying to project.

  “I saw the sign at the beach,” I said, hesitating.

  “And came to find out more,” she finished my sentence for me. “How wonderful. Let me show you around. Where are you from?”

  “Cabot Cove, Maine.”

  “That’s pretty far north,” she said, smiling at me as if I were a student who’d just given the right answer. “It must be frigid up there this time of year.”

  “It’s pretty cold.”

  “Of course it is. Hard on the bones. Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Wainscott Towers is a new community, perfect for retirement, wonderful weather year-round, all the amenities, right on the water. How many places can boast that? By the way, what’s your name?”

  “Jessica Fletcher.”

  “I’m Marina Rodriguez. And you know, Jessica, even if you’re not retired yet, it’s a wise woman who plans for her future. However, if all you want to do is escape the cold for a few months, what better place than here?”

  She sounded like she’d memorized the sales brochures. I let her usher me over to the wall, where schematic drawings of the different apartment layouts in the yet-to-be-built towers were displayed.

  “We have apartments with one, two, and three bedrooms, depending on how much space you need, and whether you’ll be using this lovely residence as a permanent home or simply a wintertime getaway. We have lots of people who do that. They look upon the building as an investment. What we can do for you is arrange to rent out your unit when you’re not in residence. That way, with the income from rentals throughout the year, you’ll be able to pay for the apartment in no time at all. And everyone can use that extra income, no matter what their financial situation, don’t you think?”

  “It sounds almost too good to be true,” I said. “What happens if everyone wants to do that, and you can’t rent them all?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. A high-rise overlooking the water is always in demand.”

  I wondered if the same promise had been made to the buyers of Foreverglades whose “investments,” as well as their panoramic views, were imperiled by the new construction.

  “Let me ease your mind with a few statistics. People love coming to Florida for the warm weather. You did, am I right? We had twelve million visitors last winter alone, almost thirty-nine million for the whole year. And every day, nine hundred people make Florida their permanent home.”

  “Those are impressive statistics,” I said, not bothering to tell her I had come south for a funeral. “However, I understand there’s a lot of opposition to this project from the people who live in Foreverglades.”

  “Oh, just a few malcontents, not serious opposition, I assure you. Anyway, this project is poised to go forward. We expect to break ground next month, and nothing will stop it. Mr. Wainscott will see to that.”

  “He has that much influence?”

  “He certainly does,” she said, grinning. “And I’ll let you in on a secret. Mr. Wainscott confided in me that he expects this area to become the next big resort and retirement destination, kind of a Boca south. So if you buy now, chances are the value of your apartment will skyrocket in the years to come. He’s the best thing to happen to this part of Florida.”

  His assistant was painting Wainscott as an ambitious man, but I hoped her braggadocio was merely meant to impress me. Marina rattled on, while I mused about the myriad difficulties the towers-to-be would bring into the lives of the earlier residents of the area.

  “. . . That’s why he’s putting so much into this, and those who get in on the ground floor, so to speak, will really make a killing. Are you married or single?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I asked if you’re married or single?”

  “I’m a widow,” I said.

  “I’m a single woman myself—or soon to be, if you get my drift—and I’m planning to move into the first building as soon as it’s up,” she said. “Mr. Wainscott has promised I can have a penthouse on the twenty-first floor, right next to his. If you buy in, we could be neighbors. Us single girls have to stick together.”

  I decided not to comment on her vision of “us single girls,” and asked, “Is your employer really giving you an apartment? That’s extremely generous of him.”

  “Not giving it to me, of course. I’ll have to contribute something. After all, we’re in business to make money. That’s what he always says. He’s been very good to me, but then again, I do everything I can for him.”

  “Why haven’t you started construction yet?” I asked.

  “Just some legal technicalities to work through.”

  Her answer was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. She excused herself and hustled into the office, leaving the door open while she rounded the desk and picked up the receiver.

/>   I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but the large reception space was like the wide end of a megaphone, and her conversation was easily overheard.

  “Did you call your lawyer yet? I’m waiting for the papers. . . . What are you talking about? Those aren’t the grounds we agreed to. . . . I don’t care what Amelia said. Your sister is nothing but a common gossip. Tell her something and the whole community knows. I can’t believe you listen to anything she has to say, but then you always did favor her over me. . . . Yes, you did. . . . Well, he’s a gentleman and he treats me like a lady. . . . I am not his puta. You have some nerve. . . . I don’t have to listen to this. I’m busy now. I have a client here. . . . Well, at least I have a job. That’s more than we can say about you, isn’t it?”

  I heard her slam down the phone. It rang again.

  “What do you want now? Oh, I beg your pardon. No, he’s not. . . . Of course he’s good for it. What do you think he is? I’m sure you’ll receive the check soon. . . . I’ll have him call you back on Monday.” She replaced the receiver and stood for a moment staring at the phone.

  I tried to look interested in a photograph of Foreverglades that had been left on a table of pamphlets by the wall. The picture, mounted on a board, was covered by a sheet of clear acetate. An artist had painted a series of tall buildings on the top layer, showing what Foreverglades would look like with white high-rises instead of the low pink buildings currently there.

  Marina returned to the reception room with a big smile affixed to her face.

  “What’s this?” I asked, lifting the board so I could study the design.

  Marina stopped next to me. “Where did you get that?” Her tone was chilly.

  “It was right here on the table.”

  “That’s private,” she said, lifting it out of my hands. “You shouldn’t have touched that.” She placed the board on the floor, with the picture facing the wall, and gathered up a sheaf of pamphlets from the table. “Well,” she said, making an effort to be friendly again,

  “have you decided which size apartment is right for you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, affecting uncertainty. “Perhaps I could talk with Mr. Wainscott. Is he here?”

  “If you have any questions, I’m sure I can answer them.”

  “I’d really like to meet him,” I said, “before I decide if there’s any possibility of buying an apartment.”

  “I’m sure he’d be delighted to discuss the details of your purchase with you, but he’s not here right now.”

  “Could I come back tomorrow?”

  “You could, but he won’t be back for a while. He’s down overseeing our Key West property.”

  “What a coincidence,” I said. “I’m going to Key West myself, driving down tomorrow. I should be there by midafternoon.”

  “Are you going to look at real estate?” Her expression was concerned. She could foresee losing a sale to another building, and she wasn’t happy at the prospect. Of course, she would have been less happy had she known I wasn’t a real client at all.

  “I won’t be looking at real estate there,” I said, grateful for the truth. “Just visiting a friend of a friend.”

  She brightened considerably. “Key West isn’t half as nice as this part of Florida,” she said. “Too crowded, and too many of the wrong type of people.”

  “What type of people would that be?” I asked, thinking she made quite a lot of assumptions about her “client.” I wasn’t flattered.

  “You’ll see what I mean when you get there. By the way, Mr. Wainscott doesn’t keep office hours on the weekend. That’s his golfing time. Boys must have their games. Am I right? However, I’m sure he’d be happy to talk with you during the week.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing his weekend,” I said, amused that she envisioned DeWitt Wainscott as a boy playing a game. “I’ll be there for a few days. Maybe you can let him know to expect me.”

  “I’ll be happy to tell him that you and I talked, and that you have a few more questions for him. He’ll be so pleased that you’re interested in Wainscott Towers.” She shoved a pile of brochures at me and escorted me to the door, all the while extolling the virtues and amenities of the development.

  The temperature outside was cooler than it had been earlier in the day, but the air was still sticky. Nevertheless, I was grateful for the respite from Marina’s constant barrage of sales talk. That the woman considered herself a confidante of Wainscott was obvious. Whether their relationship was more than a business one was up for debate. Amelia had said her sister-in-law had a crush on her boss, and the beautician’s penchant for gossip notwithstanding, I was inclined to agree.

  I flipped through the leaflets Marina had thrust in my hand and saw they were almost duplicates of the ones pressed upon me by Mark Rosner, but with Wainscott Towers replacing Foreverglades in the copy. As if by thinking of him I’d made the man materialize, I looked up to see Rosner approaching the office.

  “I hope you didn’t fall for that broad’s phony sales pitch,” he said, climbing the steps till he was next to me, forcing me to tilt my head to look up at him. “Foreverglades is a much better deal.”

  “Frankly, I think it’s a little expensive, considering the views will be obliterated by Wainscott Towers once they go up.”

  “If they go up, you mean.”

  “What makes you think the towers might not get built?” I asked, taking a step backward to ease the tension in my neck.

  He moved closer and whispered, “Let’s just say the odds are against it.”

  “You’re being cryptic, Mr. Rosner,” I said.

  He studied his fingernails, a small smile playing over his lips. “I’m trying to convince Wainscott to drop the plan,” he said, looking at me. “There are plenty of other properties in Florida ripe for development.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” I said, “but does your word carry weight with him? The impression I’ve been given is that he just rolls over anyone in his way.”

  He laughed. “His reputation precedes him, I see. I think my opinion ‘carries weight’ with him, as you say. He owes me. I manage Foreverglades for him, and broker the sales of the units. I’m sure he doesn’t want to do it himself. He’s too important for that.”

  Before I could ask him anything more, Rosner saluted me with two fingers and went inside the head-quarters of DeWitt Wainscott Enterprises. It was interesting that one of his employees opposed the developer’s plans for expansion. Of course, Rosner knew that Portia was my friend. He could be telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. Then again, since he was charged with selling the apartments in Foreverglades, and not in the potentially more profitable Wainscott Towers, it could be wishful thinking on his part. Perhaps he coveted Marina’s job, and wanted to see her fail so he could take her place. Even so, Wainscott was a fool if he thought he had a loyal employee in Rosner. And Wainscott was no fool; so why did Rosner think the developer “owed him”?

  I walked back to Foreverglades, thinking about Wainscott’s plans, and the picture I wasn’t supposed to see. Were there plans to demolish Foreverglades to make way for more towers? If Wainscott’s ultimate end was to replace Foreverglades with a larger, more profitable development, one catering to a wealthier clientele, then Portia had even more reason to oppose the construction of Wainscott Towers than it seemed at first. Had she—like me, just now—found out something she wasn’t supposed to know? And had someone killed her to keep it secret?

  I looked over my shoulder. The street was deserted, the heat of the day having chased people inside. There were no cars in sight except for a black BMW sedan, just like the one driven by Tony Colombo. It was parked on the far side of the building facing my direction. Did I detect movement behind its dark windshield? Could he be following me? A shiver passed over me. Foolish to feel nervous, I told myself. Colombo’s not a hit man. That was just a figment of Sam’s imagination. But all the same, I picked up my pace and walked quickly in the direction of Foreverglades.

/>   Chapter Eleven

  “Every time I go to pack my bag, its contents seem to have grown.”

  “Did you buy anything in town?” I asked.

  “Only a package of razor blades.”

  “Well, that explains it then.”

  “Very funny, Jessica.”

  Seth and I were getting ready to leave for Key West. It was Saturday morning, the sun not yet over the horizon. We sipped our tea on the terrace of his apartment and munched on granola bars. We’d become tired of restaurant meals and had purchased a box of tea bags and a package of breakfast bars to tide us over till lunchtime. Seth had decided that we’d miss most of the traffic if we took off at dawn, and I, being a morning person anyway, was happy about the early start.

  “What time is Truman expecting us?” I asked.

  “I told him we’d make Key West by noon. He said he’d leave the door open if he had to go out, but he expected he’d be there to greet us.”

  “Are you sure we won’t be imposing by staying with him?”

  “To the contrary. He insisted we stay there, says he’s swimmin’ in room and will be grateful for the company. You know, Jess, I get the feelin’ he’s a bit lonely down there at the end of the continent, all by himself. We’ll be doin’ him a favor. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Now, Seth, you know I don’t. It’s very generous of him to have us. And it will be a pleasure to put a face to the name I’ve been hearing about for all these years.”

  “You’ll like him. Nice chap. Solid head on his shoulders. Good doctor, too.”