by Kieran York
Hesitating, I gave him a nod of agreement. “That would be a definite yes.”
“Wendell knew I can take care of myself. And if I’d been nearer to him the day he was shot, I could have taken care of him.”
“Who killed him?”
He glanced away. “One badass. Whoever he was, he knew how to aim a gun.”
“If you get any more of a defined answer, let me know.”
“I’ll let you know when I know.”
He followed me to my car. I assumed he meant to warn me that he was a tough guy. “Thanks for the escort.” I got inside my car, turned the ignition, and gunned my engine.
“I do have one secret to share.” He leaned against my door.
“So, share.”
“I love beating the crap out of people that cross me.”
“A threat?”
“Naw, not to you. I catch the guy who killed Wendell and I’ll beat him to a pulp right before I call the cops.” His glower softened. “I liked Wendell. He hired me, knowing that I have a record. He gave me a chance. I don’t mind Glenda unless she gets bitchy. But Wendell was okay. Nobody had a right to kill him.”
“No one has the right to kill anyone.” Driving away, I thought to myself that I’d like to turn the murderer of Wendell and the shooter of Rachel over to Drew Acherman’s fists. And while I was at it, I wouldn’t mind having Acherman take his rage and fists to the murderer of Pixy.
Pixy. She didn’t deserve to be murdered. A woman somewhere in her twenties, I would speculate. Woman, yes. She was a small, energetic woman. Her mental state led people to believe she was a girl – she seemed like a girl. Her presence was that of a child. Uncontrollable, indecisive, and yet she knew how to stand on her hands. She knew how to entertain crowds of locals and tourists. Her performances weren’t perfect. Her hat was upturned on the ground, and she depended on the tips from passersby.
She smiled, and those who watched her acrobatics smiled. I was pretty sure that others took that magic of hers with them. Just as I did. Pixy improved our day. It became just a little better.
I drove to the aging dock where the deteriorating vessel, The Ghost, was moored. The ship was protected only with a ribbon of yellow. I considered that Pixy had very little in the way of material things. She needed very little. I wondered about the working of her mind. Guessing that the brain injury happened because of an accident, I assumed that it had to do with the massive crush of her head and side of her face. Who had done that to the young woman? I wondered. Where were the people in her life before she’d been injured?
“Hi, you!” Evan’s cheerful voice broke into my thoughts.
I teased, “Hi. Do you have information, or did you just want to meet again?”
“Both.” Her eyes had a sparkle, and I believed her.
“Good.” I said it with a conviction that meant to be assuring. Of course, I was interested in her – as a woman. But reality dictated the conditions. She was only staying another few weeks. She needed to get back to her professorship. And I was mentally entrenched in two murder cases. Both with more suspects than non-suspects.
As we walked to the craft, we saw Lefty out in a rowboat. We traded waves. Evan shook her head. “The guy would rather fish than do anything else.”
“Did Pixy go fishing with him?”
“Not that I know. There were so many things I never knew about Pixy.” Her sigh was one of pathos intermingled with grief. “I wish I could have known her better.”
Grinning, I asked, “Do you fish?”
“I don’t have much time available. But I used to fish with my dad.”
“Another question. Since you’re a marine biologist saving the sea, and all sea life, do you eat fish?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I thought it might be a professional courtesy of some kind.”
We chuckled together and it sounded nice. I offered her a lemon drop. Then explained that my ex had hooked me on them.
“Your ex,” she repeated. “I Googled you. Dang, your ex was something. The smoldering singer. She was hotter than a dancehall on planet Venus.”
“There was more than lust.” My mood suddenly dropped as if a curtain fell. “It was the real reason that the Team and I had a long vacation away. My exhaustion was mental and physical after being dumped. The trip was to tickle my soul back from the devastation.”
Evan gave me a long deliberate stare. “In other words, I’d better keep my distance. I’ve also been hurt, but not as recently,” she disclosed.
Entering The Ghost, I asked, “Will you tell me everything you knew about Pixy?” The change of conversation wasn’t totally avoidance. I required a shift of focus.
“I’ll try.” Again, we carefully searched the contents of the vessel. I hoped that Evan’s memory would be jogged by seeing some treasure belonging to Pixy. As she gazed around, it was only sadness. “I recall she pointed to her face once. Then she fell to the floor. I took it to mean a fall. She’d fallen and injured her face and the side of her head.”
“Does the name Lacey Cross or Lacey Inge mean anything to you?” I questioned.
“Nothing at all. Pixy didn’t talk in sentences, nor did she even talk in reality. I know she was bullied by some guys. I could see her fear when they drove by.”
“Outside of Palm’s Oyster Bistro she was attacked by a couple of high school or college aged men.”
“I recall Lefty told me about that. It was then when he decided to try to find her to bring her home after she worked late. When I got into the mix, I’d always look for her. The night she was murdered, both Lofty and I had checked to find her. We’d assumed that she’d ridden home with the other.”
“These guys, what can you recall about seeing them?”
“They’d drive by when I was walking with her, or a crowd was watching her. I’m pretty sure they’d rolled her. Pixy had very little short-term memory, so she didn’t react to things. She did show fear when they would drive by. She wasn’t making much money through tips and selling roses and shells, but by the end of some evenings, she’d have a bankroll of two or three hundred dollars in her pocket. Some of it she hid in the boat. The rest she used to live on.”
“She had been a squatter on the boat. But then this woman named Lacey purchased The Ghost. Did she charge Pixy rent to live there?”
“I’m not sure. I only know when I gave her money, she hid it. So maybe she was saving rent money. I tried to make certain she was okay, so I’d bring food by for her. But I can’t say what she might have done with the money.”
“Back to the guys. Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”
“I think I saw the small sporty ragtop yesterday. “
“Red?”
“Yes. Well, a reddish orange, actually.” She paused. “When they saw me, they turned off South County Road onto Royal Poinciana Way.” Glancing back at me, she offered, “It was a three-tire turn. As if they were eluding me. Or didn’t want to be seen by me.”
“Listen, I want you to tell Chief Powers about this. He might have mug shots for you to look at. And you also might want to keep a low profile. If these guys have seen you with Pixy, they probably know you can I.D. them.”
“Beryl, I’m not sure I could.”
“They don’t know that. They do know what kind of vehicle you drive. Be careful.” Crime doesn’t come with a blueprint. That means outlining crime is impossible.
Chapter 7
A Palm Beach credo was: The sun shines for everyone. Waking was fitful. No matter how much light shined across my stateroom, I knew that both Wendell Perrault and Pixy were completely out of brightness.
Wendell was not quite the sympathetic victim. He had his detractors. There were constant smear campaigns about his company. Pixy was, for all practical purposes, an innocent. There is a term in law called quantum meruit. Literally it means as much “as he deserves” and it comes down to equability, enrichment, and who benefits from what.
My head was still spinning af
ter I’d showered, dressed, and ate breakfast. I couldn’t judge that either case was more or less justified. Both murders were wrong and sad. I was always glad that I’d never been called for jury duty.
Meanwhile, the proverbial old platter was heaped high with possible killers. Suspects. Clues were strings jutting out of a skein of yarn. To recap the investigations, I’d suggested to Summer that we begin the day early, at the hospital.
Summer and I arrived in time to catch Doc Hanna as she exited Rachel’s room.
“I’m keeping her one more day.”
“You said that yesterday.” My voice indicated impatience.
Hanna squinted in my direction. “Beryl, if I trusted you even a smidge, I might consider it. You’ve already got her making hundreds of calls. If I released her, you’d probably have her doing combat training, or chasing a criminal.”
“She wants to work the case,” I argued. “Summer and I shall both watch that she doesn’t do anything strenuous. And that she wears the shoulder sling to keep her side still. And that she stays in bed for a week. Pluma misses her.” Plea bargaining with Pluma wasn’t beneath me.
“That parrot can stand one more day without Rachel,” Hanna was insistent. “Oh, and by the way, I’ll be spending time there. Rachel issued an invitation. I’ll be carefully monitoring her.”
“I’ll bet,” Summer munched her words.
A side-glance almost made me laugh at Summer’s narrowed eyes. Although fierce now, Summer’s glare had been much more dangerous a few other times in her past. Her features indicated she was ready to pounce. I intervened, “On my word, we’ll make certain she rests.”
“Tomorrow I’ll release her. If she gets rest today.” Hanna was clearly provoked by the investigation. But so what? I was also plenty provoked. With hands on her hips, she addressed me, “If she gets rest.”
When I saw Summers mouth purse, and then open, I took Summer’s arm and led her through the doorway into Rachel’s room. “I tried to get your doctor to release you, Rach.”
“It’s fine,” Rachel said mildly. “Did she mention that she’ll be staying over with us?”
“Yes.” My answer was terse. “She doesn’t think we’ll watch you.”
“Cut her some slack,” Rachel said with a laugh.
“Let’s get this meeting started. I’ve got places to go,” Summer’s scathing tone singed. She sulked on any occasion she selected.
“Okay,” I answered. “First, case one. Wendell’s killer was probably a pro. Bought and paid for – presumably. A neat and tidy homicide. Suspects include Glenda, Dr. Rhodes, Ross, a peppery gardener named Drew. Cosmetic litigant Olga. And a variety of unknown sharpshooters.”
Rachel quickly mentioned, “What we know. Glenda and Ross are probably not sweet on one another. He’s gay. Dr. Rhodes is a broke, disgruntled vice-president/shareholder/employee. He’s needing money for something. We need to find out what is drying up his cash. Gold star beside his name. Olga Carleton and her husband haven’t any previous records, but there have been a few suspect litigations – trip and fall, small stuff. She is angry. But Olga and hubby Rex don’t appear to be typical ‘hitman’ purchasers. Media film show Rex hobbling with a cane, and looking very bedraggled. He was quiet in court. Olga was shouting. Their son is a cop, so they probably wouldn’t want him in trouble if mom and dad were caught hiring a paid killer.”
“There are dirty cops.” My suggestion was hastily ignored by ex-cop Rachel.
“Maybe Dr. Rhodes needs more pay advances so he can pay off the blackmailing killer?” Summer offered.
My voice nearly whispered, “He just doesn’t seem like the type to locate a hitman. Milquetoast personality. He’d need to secure a gunman. There are police sting operations that would frighten him. And if you go to the gutter to find a contract killer, you have a chance of the gunman turning on you. Turning State’s evidence if he gets caught. Risky. But maybe he’s angry enough. According to Mandy Jewel, he was a conniver who tried to get hookers on the cheap. That indicates he wouldn’t really go to the high-class contract killer.” I frowned. “If there’s anything at all high-classed about a murderer.”
Rachel jabbed, “You should know about that. You represented and sprung most of them in this area.”
My jaw clamped. “And I purchased a luxury home, and a Lamborghini. I had seed money to start up our agency. I sold and spent everything to have so I could participate in the joy of chasing down the bad guys. I hope one day to get in your good books. Redemption. Until then, drop it, Rach.”
“You’re a reformed advocate of criminals,” Rachel stated pointedly.
I wasn’t about to thank her for that remark. “Case two. Pixy. No one knows her name. She’s been harassed and bullied by two young men. At one point probably beaten. High school or college aged guys. They may have been spotted in a red convertible – sporty, no other description. We know they followed a beige Jeep. Rach, can you check and see any of the surveillance cams in the vicinity of South County Road and Royal Poinciana yesterday. Check if either shopkeepers or traffic lights have the car turning rapidly sometime during the afternoon. See if you can get us a copy. License plate photo, maybe.”
Rachel reported, “Will do. Nothing on Lefty Frank Leroy. Nothing on a Lacey Cross or a Lacey Inge. I expanded the search to all of Florida, and nothing.” Rachel winched slightly as she attempted to move. “I hate the sharpshooter that did this to me.”
“Me, too,” I spoke apologetically. I’d almost lost one of my most beloved friends, and I was upset with her because she reminded us of my nefarious days in court. “Rach, I’m sorry.”
“Please, you two don’t get soppy.” Summer rolled her eyes. “Anything from Tom?”
“He probably hasn’t got as much as we’ve got,” I answered. “He’s held back on us before, so I’m willing to only tell him the need-to-know intelligence.” Both Rachel and Summer grinned. I continued, “One thing I told him. Because the car carrying the possible killer, slash, killers of Pixy was attempting to elude Evan Finch, the police should keep an eye on her. She’s not sure if she could identify them, but the punks don’t know that. The men might just want to eliminate her from the witness list.”
“Harvard. Or Harvard Shirt,” Rachel nodded. “I’d love to get that one solved.” Her eyes closed. Her pain meds were kicking in.
“We’ll get the killer,” Summer vowed.
We all knew the anguish of missing Pixy. She wasn’t in our lives daily. However, very nearly every day. Because she was one of life’s drop-in anytime persons, we never knew when she’d arrive. When or where she would begin her show. Her routine. That meant she was everywhere, or so it seemed. And always. A helpless young woman was killed for no reason. Probably by terrorizing, harassing youth, intent on later in life becoming the harassing devils of commerce or politics, or both. The young men were obviously ‘entitled’ bullies. The car driven was in that category – two or three hundred grand. Damn them.
Leaving the hospital grounds, I checked my phone. There were two calls. One from the officer on scene after Pixy was killed, and the other from Evan.
Jill Timoteo, the first officer on site to view Pixy’s body, suggested we meet at the murder scene. She wanted to refresh it in her mind. See how it looked after the days since the killing.
It sounded reasonable, so I drove directly to the back lot of Glitters.
“It never hurts to scrutinize a crime scene more than once,” she articulated with a businesslike declaration. We shook hands.
“Glad we can talk,” I said with a nod. “Murder makes time stand still for the first couple minutes. Then everything is impacted by the sudden realization of it.”
“Beryl, when I was in Miami, murder was rampant. Here, well, it’s another world. And who thinks anyone would kill someone like Pixy.”
“Anything new?” I quizzed.
“Oh, yes. The reason I called. Something has been bothering me. The autopsy photos looked weird, and I recall when I saw Pixy
’s body, I thought it was strange.”
“Rachel also got a set of the photos.”
“There was a mark on the neck. Seeing that took me back. I zeroed in on it. I couldn’t figure out if the assailant was trying to strangle her. You know, some ligature kind of thing. But the marks also looked as if someone struck her with something. A cane or something. And it made a circular whip-like mark from the violent blow.”
My recollection tumbled backward. I’d also noticed it. I’d even asked Hanna about it. Hanna believed it to have been her collar ruffle indented the skin. But I knew it was more of a contusion. And with the same slant at a hook, a cane. Something strange. The strangeness resonated.
A cane, I considered. I’d seen a cane leaning against Lefty’s door jamb. He did have a gimp, but barely noticeable. I made a mental note to check it out.
“Jill, this could be important. I’ve never seen it on a body. Or a crime photo. It was something that struck her like a weapon. But what weapon would hit with terrific impact and leave that mark?”
“I’ll continue to check it out, Beryl. I’m doing double shifts now, so I don’t have much research time.”
“I’ll mention it to Rachel. She’s a genius when it comes to this stuff,” I said with a laugh. “Maybe she can come up with the answer. Thanks for letting me know. I really appreciate your help. And if you can think of anything else, please let me know.”
After Jill’s squad car left, I thought I’d check inside at Glitters, and see if anyone had any suspicions. While I was there, Cheryl Garth approached. She mentioned that there was a fund for Pixy’s funeral and burial. I explained to Cheryl that Rachel, Summer, and I had decided to pay for it, and had notified the Homicide Department that Trevar’s Team Investigators would be taking care of bills, and perhaps a memorial of some type. Whatever had been collected at the various bars could be used to pay for a tribute day for Pixy.
“That’s generous,” Cheryl exclaimed.
