by Kieran York
When Rachel joined us, I asked her about checking in-depth on Ryder’s past. Between the lines of police reports. Seeking files through backhoeing.
“Records may well be gone, and maybe I won’t get any more than Evan found,” Rachel said as she tore a croissant and slipped its flaky corner into her mouth. “The Court often erases and tidies when the kid is under eighteen. And depending on the disposition of the case, sometimes the age is twenty-one. But I’ll check it out.”
“Summer is going to stay here with you, Rach,” I muttered. “She’ll be checking Cambridge for any stories. What do you think of the idea of sending her up there to snoop?”
“My guess is it would be more productive for her to chase down information on the kid called Javier. From what I’ve got, he was a local high school grad, but didn’t go on to college. Ryder Hodges hangs out with him when he’s home on vacation from Harvard.”
“You’re right,” I acknowledged. “We need her here.”
Rachel covered her eyes a moment. “Oh, and we got a last name for Javier. That guy Summer talked with about Javier checked it out. His last name is Ramon. Javier Ramon. The bartender also said that both Ryder and Javier finished high school together just last year. Hodges got kicked out of a ritzy boarding school. But it didn’t exclude him from Harvard.”
“Did he give you the name of the private boarding school?”
“Yes. And I called them. They don’t divulge information about their student, or former students. No charges were made.”
I slipped a forkful of omelet in my mouth. The burst of hot pepper was perfect. “We certainly know the way that translates. Those Ivy League folks cover for one another.”
Evan grinned in my direction. “I’m so glad I don’t need to include bad guys in my research. Rotten for my blood pressure. But just think, I wouldn’t have needed to study to get into a top college. Born rich would have taken care of it, as well as bad behavior.”
“A bad guy tried to bomb your butt,” Rachel nonchalantly commented. “You do realize that now you’re a target. While we can’t prove that Ryder killed Pixy, which I’m certain we all believe, it can be proved that Ryder attempted to murder you. Forensics is sifting through what’s left of your Jeep for all the evidence they can discover. That means there may be some evidence. There is no trace of evidence in Pixy’s murder.”
There was concern in Evan’s eyes. “After today’s volleyball game, I’m going to stay out of sight. It’s just that I promised to play on the team, so I really feel obligated. My partner and I only have a ten-point game.”
“I’ll be with you, and I’ll be carrying my weapon,” I said. “But it really would be wiser to sit it out.”
“I agree,” Rachel spoke.
“My father taught me not to neglect my promises.” Her face saddened in increments. “It’s just that I never like to let him down. I mean, can you imagine a man losing his wife and spending the remainder of his life raising a kid? He dated women, but never allowed it to get serious.”
“Maybe he didn’t fall in love again,” Rachel remarked.
“Probably not. He still has Mom’s photos everywhere. And wears his wedding band.”
Rachel shrugged ever so slightly. “There you have it, Evan. He’s still in love with your mother. Whether or not he had a child, he still probably wouldn’t have married again. And you’ve kept him company.”
“And my grandmother was also there.”
“His mother was also with him?” Rachel quizzed.
“No. My grandmother was my mother’s mother. Confusing. But she always loved her son-in-law They got along great together, and she adored me. We were all happy.”
I took Evan’s hand in mine. “Evan, if he would have wanted to remarry, he would have.”
She admitted, “You’re right, of course. I just want to make him proud of me. He was a great dad.”
“A close call because someone wants you dead, would not please him,” Rachel countered.
I asked, “Have you even told him?”
“No. I had called him last night, but didn’t mention the bombing. I just said they were changing out the Jeep I’d rented.” Evan added, “And I don’t want to let down my teammates.”
Rachel and I smirked. “Ask enough questions, you’ll usually get to the true answer. You want to play?”
“Yes,” she answered. “When I’m involved in a game, I think only of the sports event.”
“I’ll be with her,” I said to Rachel. “You don’t have to worry.”
Rachel’s grimness softened. “Both of you be careful. We’ve got a close call on each of our cases. Let’s not test our luck.”
The three of us laughed, nervously at first.
The term ‘third time is a charm’ came to mind.
Driving Evan to the Purple Sand Sport Bar was a quiet trip. Perhaps the danger was sinking in. The outside volleyball sandpit was large, and wonderfully groomed. Evan had a chance to school me on the rhyme and reason of such a game. When some of the women were warming up, they provided a sample game. Evan pointed out techniques. Then Evan and her partner played against two enormously fit opponents. These women were in it to win it.
While attempting to watch the sandpit, the small rows of bleachers, and the women coming and going, I was happy that the male clientele remained inside drinking. The gay guys had no interest in the world in seeing four women out in sand, bouncing a ball back and forth. They would stay inside in the air-conditioned barroom sipping their splendidly well-poured Piña coladas, Bloody Marys, and Lemon Sunsets
Scraps of information from the crowd included: She’s getting underneath the ball. She keeps putting it into the net. Serving Errors. What an athletic build. Powerful. Great defense. In the deep corner. Outside – wide. Served an ace. The block was terrific. They lost momentum.
The voices were describing Evan’s team when they spoke about lost momentum. “Sorry you lost,” I commiserated as I handed Evan a towel to wipe her perspiration.
“I tried.”
“I thought you were wonderful.”
“I’ll buy you a drink,” she grinned. “For saying that. My heart wasn’t in it. Yes, I was concerned about everything.” She appeared troubled.
We went inside, found a booth and ordered screwdrivers. “Evan, maybe you should stick closer to the yacht. It might not be a bad idea,” I encouraged.
“Maybe I should pack my bags and go home to Vermont.”
“If that’s what you think is best.”
She touched my hand. “No, I’d like to finish my research. And get to know you better.”
“I’d like that too. But I don’t want you harmed.” The orange juice tasted refreshing. I wanted to protect Evan. But I suspected Ryder Hodges of being responsible for one fatality. And the woman across from me was nearly killed. I looked into her eyes. Evan Finch was a kind, decent woman. A bright, fine woman. Maybe, I argued with myself, I should have insisted that she return to Vermont. I wanted to get to know her better, too.
After delivering Evan back aboard with Rachel, we ate a lunch and discussed the crimes. Then I decided to stay in Palm for the remainder of the afternoon. First, I would drop by the Perrault Mansion, so I could chat with Glenda. For some reason, she was high on the police department’s suspect list. Or perhaps just high on Tom’s list.
For whatever reason, I was also determined to talk with her about Curtis Rhodes. Something just wasn’t adding up. It became even more of a question mark when Rachel had problems digging up Rhodes’ dermatological credentials. Apparently, after finishing whatever degree, he had not found employment at a hospital or a medical center. That was when he began his small facial cream company. Guaranteed to make skin into an organ of pure love. After nearly sinking the business, he made a deal to sell most of his business. It would become part and parcel of Perrault. It sounded great to Curtis. A huge boost of bucks. And more where that came from. Then the bickering, and soon the hatred of his ‘employer’ – not partner as he�
�d been led to believe. A quick attempt at fighting the original paperwork failed. Wendell’s attorney knew the definition of iron clad. And he was not afraid to use it. Fine print is a bitch.
“Glad I caught you,” I said to the harried Glenda. She looked as if she had just arrived.
“Have a seat, Beryl. It’s been a wild day.”
I sat slowly, across the desk from the newly named CEO. She had inherited all of Wendell’s titles. “I had a few questions about Curtis.”
“He’s now accused me of trying to set him up. He said you’d been bothering him.” She continued unpacking items from her immense handbag. “Now he slurred me by saying he thinks I killed Wendell, and you’re trying to find a fall guy. And he’s our fall guy of choice. I didn’t sic you on him.”
“Of course, not. He’s a suspect. We know that. And he’s a fool if he doesn’t think he’s a suspect. Is there any reason his bank account would be running low?”
“Who knows. He should have plenty of money. Not as much as he’d like. He wants half of the company. He really wants the power.”
“When he joined Perrault, did he believe he would be getting more money?”
“Naw, he was absolutely thrilled to have any money again.”
Leaning near, I asked, as if it were in the strictest confidence, “You’re aware that he has no M.D., no PhD, no D at all?”
“Wendell eluded to that when they were having one of their shouting matches in the boardroom. I honestly didn’t give a flip one way or the other. The man hasn’t done a thing since he joined the company. Each of our newly researched products has come through our group of chemists. They won’t work with him because he’s an ass. Curtis felt great about having his own office. Ha! He’s such a fool. No one wants to be around him.”
“Now, I have a more difficult question. Why would Wendell have kept him? Did he have something on Wendell?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” She gave one of those old 1950 movies laugh. She lifted her neck, throwing her flawless head back, and chaining laughter. And abruptly stopping. “Not at all.”
“I had to ask. I don’t understand why Wendell wouldn’t have set him loose. Even if he had to buy him off. People like Curtis are bad for personnel’s morale”
“Curtis isn’t completely stupid. He has a contract stating that he remains on the board, and as a partner. He can’t really be voted off. Or he would have been dumped long ago.”
I quickly suggested, “Okay, now pretend I’m Wendell. I know that Rhodes is not a doctor. That is something to be held against him. I would say, Curt, it’s over. Pack up. Tear up your contract, or I’ll tell the world what a phony you are. Sort of a double-back blackmail. Well?”
“If Wen would have kicked him to the curb, we would have needed to also tell all of our consumers that the information originally provided them was a hoax. The famous product line was not invented and developed by a doctor, as they had believed. And in court, Wen would have had to state that he knew about it. Or suspected.”
Rats take care of other rats when their tails are all on the chopping block. “Now, it makes sense. You’re certain that’s all the surprises in the Perrault history?” It just didn’t seem like the end.
“All that I know. And you’re an attorney. I’m your client. And I’m asking you to keep everything I tell you confidential.”
“It will be kept confidential. However, now might be a good time to fess up with your clients. Your husband dies, and you discover Curt Rhodes has a secret. Your honesty demands that you tell the world.” I realized this might just be her motive.
She laughed. “No wonder you were one of the leading attorneys in Florida.” She paused. “I can’t do that. First, I’d have to incriminate myself because I really don’t want to commit perjury. Beryl, I’m a small-town girl, with some looks and a gift of gab. I’m not a corporation cutthroat. I close sales. I don’t wipe out my opponents. I’ll put up with Curtis until he gives me too much trouble. Then I’ll buy him off one final time.”
I paused. “And you’ve no idea what he’s throwing his money away on?”
“No. Do you?”
“Speculation – if he’s not paying off a hitman. He likes the ponies, the ladies, or the pharmaceuticals.”
“I’ve never seen any sign of his indulging in drugs.” Glenda frowned. “He always had a fancy woman on his arm for parties, but they never acted interested in him. So, I think they might have been ‘for hire’ rather than his girlfriends. Gambling? I doubt it because when we had office pools, he’d wave us along and say he didn’t have money. He’s always been a tightwad.”
“So I’ve heard.” I wasn’t saying where I’d heard it.
As I stood to leave, Glenda went to the liquor cabinet. She poured a drink. “Would you like to join me with some excellent wine.” She took a gulp. “I get so lonely for Wendell.”
When I got to the door, I said, “Some other time.”
“Wait,” she called to me. She approached, examining my face. “I’m going to give you one of our gift bags of cosmetics. You are such a beautiful woman, it’s a shame what you’re doing to your complexion.” From a small cabinet, she pulled a decorated gift bag. “Here, take this.”
“I do use wrinkle cream – a night moisturizer.”
“Beryl, it’s letting you down. Your skin is crying out for attention.”
I lifted the bag, as a wave, “Thank you.”
Before I left, I saw she’d taken another several swallows from the stemmed glass. She’d nearly drained it. I recalled that I had witnessed the same desperation in my mother’s eyes after my father died. If I had any doubt about Glenda’s guilt, it was dispelled. She was hurting.
There are times in life when you want to be an untethered kite. For some reason, I wanted to call on Mandy. She always had a way of lifting my spirit. While driving toward the Mandy Jewel apartment, I passed by Glitters. I took a sharp turn. Suddenly, I found myself parking in front of a small store that was cattycorner to Glitters. I walked to the corner, then looked up. There was a surveillance camera directly attached to the building’s converging lines. I stood exactly under it. The line of vision was direct. It would have filmed Pixy’s death.
Quickly, I took out my phone to check my notes. Summer had interviewed Aubrey Portilla, the store’s owner, twice. Both times the proprietor denied having the cameras on. Summer wasn’t convinced. We’d made a joke about it. The business, Portilla’s Handbags, had probably never had the cameras off. The handbags were luscious. They started at nine-hundred bucks a bag. That was the cheap stuff.
This was a good time for me to pay Aubrey a visit. I was getting nowhere with either investigations, and getting there fast. Nowhere is not where I wanted to be.
“I’m Beryl Trevar,” I introduced myself. I inhaled the leather smell of the merchandise. Glamour, and hefty price tags.
“What would you like to look at, dear?” Aubrey was medium height, fashion conscious, and took on the airs of a princess. With dark hair, complexion, and ebony-colored eyes that followed my every move, Aubrey was a handsome woman approaching sixty. She cleared her throat.
“I have some questions to ask you, if I might?”
“Certainly,” she said with a sales smile that probably hurt her to make.
“You have a surveillance camera on the corner of your building. I’m going to need to borrow the information.”
“What information?”
I hated it when someone feigned stupidity. “You know what I’m talking about. The night the young woman was murdered.”
“I don’t have that. We’ve discontinued the service.”
“I don’t believe that the service isn’t working. It’s an older system, but that system is a workhorse. If it weren’t working, you would have gotten a replacement in the last week. Especially with the crime of a murder that took place nearby. Your merchandise is expensive. I’m guessing your insurance company insists on security cameras.”
“Who are you?”
<
br /> I pulled out my P.I. credentials. “I’m investigating the woman’s murder. You can cooperate with me, or I can have my pal, Tom Powers, get a search warrant.”
She was blanching, trembling. “I swear I don’t have anything. You’ll just have to get that warrant.”
“Aubrey, you’re terrified of talking. I can understand that. Ruffians are everywhere. Even the nicest areas become targets.”
Her mouth bobbed, “Look, I’ve been here a long time. I’m not worried about someone throwing a stone, or pouring paint on my establishment.”
“I know who you’re frightened of. Someone powerful, rich and desperate.”
“Please leave.”
“I want you to call me if you wish to cooperate. Pixy. She never harmed anyone in her life. She had in some way been harmed. But she lived without hurting anyone. She tried to bring joy and happiness to people. Think that over. What kind of a world do you want to live in?”
“I know what kind of a world I do live in.”
“Let’s try to make it a better world.” I tossed my business card on her counter. “Ms. Portilla, these handbags are worth a fortune, so don’t pretend you don’t have surveillance. I’m not believing that for a nanosecond. Your handbags are too expensive to leave unprotected.”
She read my card. “Ms. Trevar, your card says you speak Spanish. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Lo barato sale caro,” she uttered. Cheap things cost you in the end.
She was correct there.
I walked a couple blocks, just to regain my composure. Once I’d passed by several storefronts, I began feeling somewhat uplifted. As I passed a small grill and bar establishment, I turned. A shadow from the side-entrance moved, following me. I made a quick abrupt turn. It was Ryder Hodges. Face to face, I studied him. He knew it was me, and he knew I realized he was following me.
My heart was thumping against my ribcage. My breathing became ragged.
Ryder elicited fear. That quality made him an immediate opponent. A bully depends on it. So does a dictator, or a hardened criminal. Ryder was only twenty-one. His frame was large, six-two or three. Athletic, strong, agile. His face was not smoothly, handsomely tailored, as most moneyed young men. His creepy grin was locked, frozen. Eyes sparkled with an evil glow of elation. I didn’t want him to see my fear, so I glared back at his unnerving stare.
