by Kieran York
“Just one thing, we want it anonymously gifted. You can tell the other bars that it’s being paid for by someone wishing to remain nameless.” I gave a helpless grin. “We’ve come into a spot of financial good luck. It’s just something we want to do. Pixy was special.”
“To everyone.” Cheryl eyes began to tear. “You’re going to catch who did this.”
“Yes.”
“For certain?”
“Yes. For certain.” Perhaps it was a lie I was intent on telling myself. But I believed it. So, it was fine.
Evan’s call was because she was concerned that a car was following her. I assured her it was okay. I explained that I’d talked with Chief Powers. He’d suggested an undercover car follow her. I also mentioned that she should take different routes, park in secure places with large groups of people. Stay safe. She said the small apartment she’d rented for the summer was well lit. I teased that would be wonderful news for a shooter. Lots of light meant the killer could get off a good shot. That had only mildly amused her. I also invited her to stay over on the yacht.
She laughed. I liked her laugh. It was half a laugh with a chaining giggle. “Beryl, staying on a yacht sounds lovely. But you do realize I’m temporary. I’ll be leaving in a few weeks. I’ll be returning to Vermont and my professorship.”
“I know that. I wasn’t implying romance.”
“Pity, because it would probably be one very special and hurried romance.”
“There is a lovely guest bedroom. Why don’t you get your things together and meet me later at Palm’s Oyster Bistro? I want to chat with Mia and Barb about seeing Pixy after she’d been roughed up.”
“I’m sure I don’t need a P.I. guarding me,” she teased. “I’ve got that tail watching my car now, so I should be safe. But I would like to meet up with you later. I’m working at the Institute on something now. Later?”
“Later. I’ll call and let you know where I’m at.” I was concerned that she didn’t seem to be worried about her safety. I was, however, very troubled about her staying alone. “Be careful,” I cautioned.
My next trip would be out to Lefty’s houseboat. First, to check the cane, and second to get any information I could about Lefty Frank Leroy’s background. His past was almost as elusive as Pixy’s.
Identities. It seemed that people attempting to keep their identities untraceable came to Florida. They ran down the coast, as if they were able to renew themselves in some way. Lose part of themselves and then recover a new identity. Perhaps Lefty’s past was one of these sketchy identifications that never reveals itself. Running from a nagging spouse, bill collectors, the law, and the list went on and on. Probably nearly as many excuses as there were people. Subcategories by the bushel filled to the brim.
By the time I’d scooted across West Palm to the slip where Lefty’s houseboat was docked, I’d decided to go in with a friendly, conversational visit. Getting to know him. He was seated on a deck chair, watching as I approached him.
“Come on aboard,” he yelled. “Want a beer?”
“Sure. If you tell me where to get it, you can stay seated and I’ll go in and get me one,” I offered. I like checking on where suspects live, and how they live.
“Right inside. The fridge is on the right. Bring me one, too.”
Collecting the two cold beers, allowed me several sweeping looks at his home. It was not as grizzled and filthy as I’d imagined. In fact, it was nearly orderly. I could see inside the other room, a bedroom. I caught a glance at the corner of his bed. He’d been in the military. He’d made his bed exactly as he’d been taught when in service.
Exiting, I looked carefully at the cane. It was exactly where he’d left it when I first saw it. And I noticed it had over a week’s worth of dust on it. I handed him the can of beer.
“I hope you like this brand.” The mottled skin on his reaching arm appeared to have been badly cut at one time. My imagination guessed he’d been in a knife fight.
“Yes, it’s fine. A hot day like today, there’s nothing better than a swig of beer.” After another sip, I mentioned his cane. “I didn’t know you use a cane.”
“Rarely. Just when my foot’s acting up.”
I walked nearer to the cane, and lifted it. It was very dusty. I had gauged correctly, it certainly hadn’t been used for over a week. “An accident?” I asked.
“Nope. Got shot in Nam. My plane got shot down. I spent a few months in a prison hut. Punishment cage.” He wiped the sweat from the beer can’s rim. “People say that we should be proud of our service. Sure, I’m proud that I served and did what they asked of me. But the thought of war still sends chills shivering through my body. When you kill, it makes you different. I went over there one way, and came back a different guy. I got me all kinds of scars. But I was lucky to come back. Lots of my buddies didn’t.”
“Death seems so useless,” I commented. “What have you been doing since the war?”
“I been everything, it seems. Whatever I could get. When I got back, not many hired us. Some thought we were killers. There wasn’t much employment to choose from. Then I went from Ohio to Texas. There was supposed to be good jobs there. No such thing. I went to Detroit, and after that, I came south. Maybe I should’a stayed in the military. But I never wanted the responsibility. We were a lot a of kids just trying to do what was expected of us.”
“Thank you for your service, sir.”
His head went up slightly. “You’re welcome. I never told Pixy I was in the military. I didn’t want her to think I was a killer.”
“She wouldn’t have thought poorly of you, no matter what. You were kind to her.”
Tears slowly drizzled down his face. His hands swatted at them. “I miss that kid. She never made a lick of sense. I usually had to try to figure out what she was saying by just guessing.”
Pitching the empty beer can in the trash, I stood. “I know I say this every time we part, but I’ll say it again. If you can think of anything that would help in the investigation, would you let me know?”
“I surely will.”
“Oh, I also wanted to ask, is there any place where Pixy might have hidden anything. You know a note, or any clue?”
“There’s a false board. Painted red, so she’d remember. She would put some of her money in there. I showed her how to open and close it when she first moved in. Before it was abandoned, this old guy lived there and showed me. He’d put his Jack Daniels inside. I think Pixy just put a little cash and change. I’m not sure.”
“Maybe when Evan gets here, we can look.”
“I know how to open the door. Pixy never remembered the key. You want me to show you the red board?”
“Yes, that would be great.”
He carefully placed his beer on the hand rail. We walked to the door. “See this here lock is all uneven.” He gave a rap and the lock popped completely out. Inside the boat, he lifted the red board against the wall. We looked inside. There were ten or twelve one dollar bills and several stacks of coins. There couldn’t have been more than fifteen dollars total. There were also two shells. One was a True Tulip. The other was an Apple Murex. Pixy’s accumulated treasure.
I thanked Lefty for breaking into The Ghost and showing me the hidden makeshift safe. After leaving, I realized I felt a sickness after having invaded Pixy’s privacy. After all the snooping my profession requires of me, I’d never once felt that emotion.
Evan and I ended up meeting at Purple Sand. She explained that this weekend the sports club/bar would be having a volleyball match. She’d signed up for a game in the sandpit. She wanted to check the time of her match. The bar staff dressed the part of various sports. Relaxed, Purple Sand was an interesting, nicely decorated meeting place for those sportspersons. When I saw Evan, I teased, “You’re a jock?”
Laughing, she admitted it. “Yes. But only to keep my normally sedentary body healthy. I get quite a bit of time swimming, and snorkeling, but on land, I don’t get enough exercise. When I’m home in V
ermont, I’m usually teaching, or I’m in a lab working on projects.”
We both ordered salads. In a sports/health bar, it seemed appropriate. Seated at a small table, we sipped on our juice drinks. I inquired, “Aren’t summer sports in Vermont different than in Florida?”
“Some are. I’ve always lived in Vermont. Now, I spend a couple months of the year in California lecturing and doing research, and two months here in Florida. The best of all worlds.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Yes. I am in my mid-thirties and live at home with my father.”
“Your dad knows you’re lesbian?”
“He does. He said he probably knew before I did. Dad is a professor of literature. A Longfellow scholar. He named his only child, me, after one of Longfellow’s characters. Evangeline.”
“Does your mother work?”
“My mother died giving birth to me. My father was much older than my mother. I’m not certain he wanted a child.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My childhood was wonderful, in spite of the fact that I didn’t have a mother. My maternal grandmother moved in with my father and me. Dad, his mother-in-law and a child. If my father wasn’t so mellow, I’m certain it could have been a very crazy household. Dad is a kind man. Quiet, intelligent, sensitive. We’d walk in the woods and he’d point out all the lessons of the forest. I also became enthralled with the ocean. We spent winters in the cold North. And summers in the hot South. My grandmother died two years ago. It was the same time that my sweetheart decided I was too boring for her. We’d lived together for several years, but she finally discovered my lack excitement. I moved back in with Dad. I didn’t want him rattling around alone in a big house. And your family?”
“My family is Rachel and Summer.” I hesitated. “My father died when I was a teen. Both of my parents were alcoholics. We lived in poverty. When I was fifteen, my father was killed in a bar fight. My mother ran off shortly thereafter. She had too many bill collectors and responsibilities. I’d been on my own from the time I could remember. I pretty much raised myself. Parental control is what most kids dislike. I had no parental control. Living according to my own rules is really all I ever knew.”
There was pity in her eyes. I hated it, and for that reason rarely told anyone about my family unless they asked. I looked down at the table, Evan’s hand was covering mine. I felt her squeeze my hand.
“Beryl, I respect you for battling your way out of poverty. It couldn’t have been easy.”
“Thankfully I have always had a surplus of ambition and luck.”
She grinned. “And brains and personality.”
“Evan, I’ve had some good fortune along the way. Maybe that’s what breaks my heart when I think of Pixy. I’m determined to find out who she was. What happened to her.”
“I’m glad you’re doing this. I know the police are investigating, but I also know they’re spread thin with both Pixy, and the Perrault murder. Plus all the other crime.”
“The Team just needs a break or two. Summer is an excellent detective. She’s strung very tightly on this one. Rachel was nearly killed. Pixy was our friend. Summer doesn’t vent. She stores all the anger inside. When we catch the killers, and I believe we shall, Summer could go at them like their worst nightmare.”
“I’m pretty strong, but I’d never want to face off with Summer.” Evan grinned. “Or any of you, for that matter.”
My other hand reached to cover her hand. There was warmth, and gentleness. “I’m not as buff as Summer, or as young. So, I’m required to fight dirty. And I do every chance I need to. The saying is - it goes with the territory. Some people think it’s exciting. But I’m not sure I’m one of them.”
“Dad is a pacifist, and he definitely preached nonviolence. Maybe that’s why I’m so freaked out about the police tail following me. It’s unsettling. The undercover is going to follow me back to my apartment after I leave here. And he’ll begin at eight in the morning. I’m not used to having someone tailing me.”
“I’m glad Powers is having you protected. If the killer is on the loose and he suspects you can identify him, you could be in danger. I know it isn’t easy. Powers has from time to time put Trevar’s Team under surveillance. If he thinks we know more than we’re telling him. He believes it’s for our own good. Most of the time, cops blow my cover, and get in my way.”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured.
I walked Evan to her Jeep. With a too sisterly hug, I cautioned, “Just be very observant. If even the smallest thing is out of place, let someone know. Be cautious. Don’t take any chances. If you need me, call immediately.”
Her eyes glistened as she gave a quick wink. “I’ve put you on speed dial. And I shall shelter in place if I’m endangered.”
She kissed my cheek.
The rustle of palm fronds seemed musical. Perhaps love and songs present themselves incrementally between solitude and turbulence.
Evan Finch seemed persuasive. Perhaps I appreciated her tranquility.
Chapter 8
The night was another fitful sequence of awaking many times with the clutch of fear. Now I was fearful about Evan’s safety. Although Evan felt secure in the confines of her apartment, and given the fact that she was escorted to her door by the police presence, I was apprehensive on her behalf.
From waking, exercising, and taking my shower, Evan was my concern. I dressed quickly in my usual slacks, cotton knit top, and button-front shirt. Fashion meant only one thing to me. All clothing worn loosely so that my weapon, in its holster, would remain concealed from the public. As always, I checked the readiness of my Beretta before carefully fitting the gleaming gun into its leather envelope.
As I slid into the comfy seat of the breakfast nook, Summer placed a small plate of croissants on the tabletop. She filled my empty cup with a wonderful coffee blend. Its aroma filled the galley. Summer hinted, “I’m hungry for something more substantial.”
“I’ll fix a little something.”
“Eggs, bacon, sweet potato fries, and some fruit.” She bargained, “Fries tossed lightly in minimal oil. Or baked. And maybe only two pieces of bacon.”
“Right,” I challenged, as I cooked her breakfast. “Like that’s going to be the world’s greatest cholesterol dump.”
“Trev, I’m in my early twenties. I do watch my diet. But sometimes you get tyrannical.”
“Naw. Just concerned. There’s the old saying that hunger makes everything taste good.”
“Trev, did you check your messages?”
“Not yet.”
“Rachel said that Hanna would be bringing her to the yacht early this morning.”
“I thought we were going to pick Rach up.”
“Guess not,” Summer answered as she sat. I loaded her plate with yummy fuel - to get her active lifestyle fed for the morning. “Thanks for fixing the feast,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” I sat back across from her. “Everything is ready for Rach’s return. I hope.” My hasty glance in Pluma’s direction insisted that I add, “Pluma will be happy. I’ll bet she lost a dozen ounces.”
Summer snickered. “She’s been on a rampage without Rachel around. Her seed mix must not be right. Maybe she’s getting too much thistle and not enough safflower, sunflower and millet. She sure hasn’t exhibited much friendliness. She’s such a diva bird. She’s this reality parrot without her own TV show. She’s been getting so withdrawn. I always knew she liked Rachel best.” Summer’s morning, low-register voice added, “Not that I care if I’m some damn bird’s second choice.”
I countered, “Rachel is onboard in the office more than we are. We’ve always done the legwork, and Rach takes care of all things on ship. Pluma is bound to have bonded more with Rachel.”
We were, I thought, very much like telepathic talkers. We could even finish one another’s sentences. It had to be that way. Many instances insisted that this teamwork be in place. It was critical to saving one another’s lives. And our o
wn. We both began speaking at the same time. Then I encouraged her to talk.
“I figured Pluma and I were nearer. A simpatico kind of deal,” Summer stated her case.
“But Summer, she has always known I’m the one who originally rescued her. She knows I’m her primary parent. And I understand how she feels about Rachel.”
Our security system alerted us that someone was approaching. I quickly stood, then gave the cabinets a whisk with a counter towel. Folding it, I then rushed outside. Summer followed behind.
Summer sniffed, then released a heavy sigh. “I hope Dr. Hanna Zackary doesn’t order us around and scold us.”
“Hanna isn’t going to do that when she’s on our yacht,” I stated. I gave Summer a good-natured shove. “Remember, she isn’t carrying heat and we are.” I patted my side and felt the intrusion of my holster.
From the dock, I heard Hanna call out, “Hi. Listen, can you two make certain there’s nothing on the deck or floors that Rachel might trip on. She needs healing time, and nothing can disrupt that.”
Summer let out a lengthy, loud groan. She muttered, “Trev, I’ll go inside and remove the road barriers we erected.”
When Rachel boarded, we gave her gentle hugs. We’d been warned at the hospital not to put stress on her wounded area. Or any area. Tenderness. Care. I answered Hanna, “No disrupting going on here.”
The doctor gave me a sour look. “Good. Now she’ll need pillows. And I brought a foam wedge so she could lean back. Don’t let her walk more than a block, and make certain she doesn’t trip. Probably just walk her down the marina dock. I hold her arm, like this,” Hanna instructed as she demonstrated. Once inside, everything was orderly enough to meet with her dictates. Hanna had inspected everything. She then took medication from her bag and placed it carefully on the counter. “I’ve got to get back to the hospital. Call if you need anything, and take care of my patient.”
Under her breath, Summer muttered, “She’s our partner!”
When Rachel walked near Pluma, Pluma recognized her favorite parent. The parrot squealed, “Pluma wants a fuckin’ cracker. Pluma wants a fuckin’ cracker.”
