by Kieran York
“Better watch where you’re walking,” his threatening voice dared me. A laugh escaped. There wasn’t a reason to laugh, but he had.
“I know you’re Ryder Hodges. You’re not intimidating me.”
“Sure, I am,” he said as he moved nearer. “And I know you and your Team have eyes on me. Ding, ding. Round one,” his voice spared with mine. “And I can get any girl in this state. You and your girls can’t.”
“Any woman I’ve ever been with has been with me of her own free will. Unlike you. I hear you need to dose them, drug them, beat them, coheres them, cajole them, or buy them. And perhaps murder them.”
“You’re losing round one,” he said with an arrogant insolence.
“But you can bet your ass, I’m not going to be losing the match.”
“You’re a joke. You and your women just stay away from me. Do yourself a favor, pretend you never heard of me.”
Combatively, I said, “That isn’t going to happen. You’ll make a mistake.”
“Nothing in my life is a mistake. I purchase remedies.”
“Florida is a death penalty state. The remedy can be costly. And the purchased remedy might not work in the jury of public opinion.” I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Some people can’t be bought.”
His head then went back in an act of defiance. “Boom, boom,” he uttered with malevolence. His face was twisted with a grin of evil. “Flesh flying, all torn apart with one boom. The second boom is an echo.”
I didn’t want to touch him, or I would have given him a slam to get him out of my way. I walked around him. He turned and went the opposite way.
When I returned to my convertible, I called Mandy Jewel. I could use one of her enormous, strong, and delicious drinks. And a few of her stories wouldn’t go amiss either.
She issued an invite, and I hustled to her apartment.
Mandy stuck a decorated glass in my hand as I entered. It was a strawberry margarita. “Thanks, I’m glad the Marina isn’t far. I may have to walk after this.”
“Drink up. You’ll be fine. What’s happening?”
After telling her about the clash with Ryder Hodges, she warned me, “Beryl, you want to be very careful. Please promise me you’ll get extra security for The Radclyffe, and you women.”
“I know he blew up Evan’s Jeep. And he killed Pixy.”
“That poor little girl never had a chance.”
“Not a chance,” I repeated. I sipped the drink. It was refreshing. I wanted it to cool me down, but it wasn’t. “Mandy, these cases have been cases from hell.”
Her laugh was rushing as she agreed, “You’ve got crazy luck with both being difficult. And the Perrault case?”
“I’m not getting anywhere. I’m searching to find out where Curtis Rhodes is spending his money. Oh, and how well do you know Aubrey Portilla?”
“Your second question is easier. Have a seat.”
We sat, and I waited a moment while she thought. “Aubrey is doing quite well as a business woman. A couple of divorces. I think she’s single now. She comes from money. Makes money; spends money. I’ve always gotten along with her. To my knowledge, she’s never been in any trouble.”
“I want her to give me the surveillance tapes, or information from the camera facing down over Glitters. Any ideas?”
“She wouldn’t have anything to do with a young busker, so she hasn’t got a chicken in the cock fight. I can’t imagine Aubrey going out of her comfort zone for a poor street entertainer.” Mandy slunk back in her chair. “Come to that, I can’t see her doing anything for anyone. Not that she’s a shitty person, but she isn’t what I’d call a philanthropist. Not sympathetic and not big-hearted.”
“That’s the impression I got of her, too.”
“I don’t think Aubrey’s going to give up information. Her background is interesting. She came over as a very small child from Cuba. All her life she’s resisted involvement. She mistrusts. I honestly don’t believe she’ll part with any information that harms her, or could harm her.”
“In other words, I may not be able to solve this case.”
“Old Palm Beach bon mots don’t always tell just one secret. Life’s answer is that there is no answer; the bottom line is that there is no bottom line.”
I took another sip. “Mandy, she could be this answer.”
“Could is a rickety old word. Now, on to your other question. Dr. Curtis Rhodes is locked in his strangeness.”
“You mentioned that a few of your girls refused to deal with him.”
“He wasted their time. They ended up getting stiffed. I ended up getting stiffed. Stiff as in swindled. Pleasure for him, as I heard it, is different. I’ve made it a point never to talk about the gentlemen with whom I dealt. But I like you. Trust you. I’ll speak my mind. He has a severe desire to be the ruler, the boss. If anything, he wanted not to please a woman. He wanted to treat the women with angry words, degradation. Some of that will work with women. Money and a great tip makes that acceptable to a woman needing funds. He was cruel, not assault and battery mean. Cruel.”
“And any other bad habits?”
“That one was enough to get him kicked out of my escort service. I’m not sure where his money goes. It sure as hell isn’t for clothing. He may be paying off a hitman. Or blackmail.”
Grinning, I nodded my agreement. “I’m looking for something that may or may not be attainable. I’m frustrated.”
“Get a good woman,” she shrugged. “A deliciously wonderful woman.”
“That might not be a bad idea.”
When we parted, I considered Mandy’s advice. Although it was still light out, I was pretty sure I’d missed dinner time. A peek at my phone told me I had calls from nearly everyone. They all knew I was in the vicinity, and would be home soon.
On the return trip to the yacht, I received an emergency call from our client, Glenda Perrault. Since both Mandy’s apartment and the Perrault Mansion were in Palm Beach, I was only minutes away from Glenda.
When I arrived, I realized I had indeed interpreted Glenda’s distress call correctly. Glenda was intoxicated. She was wobbling, and her speech slurred. I had covered my eyes and whispered to myself, “On, noooo.”
“Beryl, I’m glad you’re here.” She began her maudlin tale of woe. In her life, she’d had such a difficult time climbing to make it to the top. Finding the love of a man, and now losing him.
Finally, I said, “Glenda, I don’t believe Wendell would have wanted you to be sad.”
“I know,” she whined. “Look, sit over in that chair and I’ll give you a facial while we talk. Your skin is too wonderful to throw away. Beryl, you must preserve it now. With your bone structure, and those dimples, your face is a magnificent canvas.”
She threw a towel over my back. My eyes widened as she began massaging my temple. My minimal makeup as removed, and she began layering me with concealer, with anti-aging creams, secret revitalizers, and something that was supposed to be absorbed into the skin to refresh and hydrate the crap out of my face and neck. My eyes had never been so widely opened. I feared.
“Beryl, this will give you the youthful, glowing skin you desire.”
She had poured me a goblet of expensive wine. I sipped slowly. She continued topping up my glass, and I continued drinking slowly. She drank considerably more quickly. Finally, as she poured wine into my goblet, there was so little to top up, I was afraid the kinetic energy wouldn’t hold the wine’s surface tension until I got it to my lips – for another very tiny sip.
She had already started reapplying makeup. I was getting more nervous than before. Now she was not only demolishing my healthy skin self-regiment, she was rebuilding. Painting and powdering.
“Was there anything new about the investigation?” I asked. She quickly steadied my lips and slathered them with lip gloss.
“Beryl, I called you because I have no one else to talk with. Ross is unavailable. Even Felipa didn’t pick up her call. I think the authorities believe
I had Wendell killed. They keep questioning me. Have you got any clues at all?”
“Only what we discussed. It’s common to look at the spouse.”
“I’ve taken a polygraph.”
“Not admissible in court. And not one-hundred percent reliable. For that reason, it isn’t used to accuse, nor to eliminate you. However, in most cases, it weighs in your favor if you’ve passed.”
“I still wonder if it wasn’t Curtis,” she murmured.
“I’ve been attempting to find some reason that he needs money. The only reason I can think of is that he needed to purchase the service of a hired gun. However, hitmen want the money upfront. It would have previously been paid. What he needs money for now – well, that could be a case of the shooter blackmailing him.”
That scenario might be because he’d hired a two-bit gunman rather than a profession. The professional goes away, and usually stays away. Mandy had told me she had it on good authority that it wasn’t a gangland hit.
Glenda suddenly sobbed. “I miss Wen so badly. My life is coming apart.” She went to sit on the sofa.
I followed, and put my arm around her shoulder. “You’ve got to be strong right now. For yourself and for Wen’s memory, and the company. It’s important to keep that goal in mind. Be strong.”
She noticed when I glanced at my watch. “It’s getting late. I’m keeping you, Beryl. You need your rest. I’m depending on you to help me.” Glenda leaned back and then slid down into a fetal position on the couch. I left her, passed out, with her tears still dripping.
The security guard at the door mentioned that he would call for her maid to come and get Glenda to bed. I’d seen him around before, so I asked, “Does she get like this often?”
“Since Wen died. She sits and plays music and drinks. Then breaks down crying.” His frown deepened. “I even suggested grief counseling.”
“It might help,” I agreed. “I know you were here when Wendell was killed. Is there anything that might have come to you since the murder?”
“I wish I could help. I already told Summer Wade about my recollections. I remember immediately going to Mr. Perrault, to cover him. I had my revolver drawn as I looked in the direction the shots came from. The killer was behind the bushes, I saw movement. I heard a boat of some kind immediately after the shots.”
“And you saw movement at exactly what point?”
“It was hearing shots, then…” he broke. He realized the sequence. “Wait, the movement behind the brush was when the boat’s motor was heard.”
We looked at one another. “There had to have been two,” I deduced. The shooter and the speedboat driver.
“Yes. Undoubtedly. Unless he had a remote-control starter.”
“You’ve been a big help. Thanks.” Additional information implicated a second person. The complicity would be shared. No matter who pulled the trigger.
Leaving, I conceded that my face did feel soft and subtle. I couldn’t bring myself to look into the rearview mirror, even for a peek.
Chapter 11
By the time I arrived home, the only one awake was Pluma. She screeched a few bars of go-blank-yourself. Not using ‘blank’ for the sake of being polite.
Walking past my mirror stunned me. Poor inebriated Glenda had tarted me up with a hot and wild makeup job. I laughed as I took a selfie. Rach and Summer would enjoy the image. And I would be elated that they now knew I was a good sport.
Poor Pluma had called me a throwaway whore, in Spanish. With my painted red cheeks, the poor parrot probably took me for a cockatoo. A very spicy cockatoo.
After a quick shower to wash off my cosmetics, I vowed to never get near an inebriated cosmetics goddess again. I slipped into bed, but my brain wouldn’t shut off for sleep, or even rest. And it was solving nothing.
By the time morning began, I was ready to either try sleeping in, or getting up to face a bleary world. I opted to make my way to the galley. I was surprised to see Summer making a pot of coffee.
Although we’d discussed my meeting with Ryder and his presumed threat, we went back over it. I repeated his boom boom line a few times. Then I said that I almost preferred his evil chatter to the facial makeover that came later.
I suggested that Summer take a gander at the selfie I’d taken last night. She began flipping through her phone. When she reached the selfie that I’d sent her, she roared.
“Trev, you were late last night, and I almost came after you. Good thing I didn’t. I don’t want to look like that! Ever!”
I grumbled, “I warned you off with my text messages. Then I took the selfie for you.”
“How was Glenda when you left her?” Summer quizzed.
“Sleeping on the sofa.”
Explaining the evening, I felt satisfaction in finding a clue. There were two involved in the shooting.
“Trev, when the ambush happened, I honestly couldn’t tell you if branches and foliage moved or not. My eyes were on Rachel.” Summer was in deeply entrenched I thought for a few moments. “So, there were two. We don’t know either of them, so it might as well be ten.”
I could see the frustration in her eyes. I could feel the frustration in my own eyes.
“Summer, I don’t see Curt Rhodes doing anything dangerous. But suppose he hired two hitmen. One of them is now blackmailing him. Maybe the one driving the boat was a local thug. Someone assisting for a few bucks. Maybe the sharpshooter mentioned the name of the one that took out the contract to the boat driver.”
“Could be. Have you ruled out Olga Carleton? After the verdict, she was threatening the Perraults.”
“I don’t think they have the money.” From all appearances, I couldn’t see large amounts of money. “Summer, I just think she was probably ventilating about harming Wendell and Glenda. She seems the type that would bluster empty threats.”
“Motive-wise, our two best suspects are Doc Rhodes and Olga.”
Sipping coffee, I then rubbed my weary eyes. “Maybe ‘Mr.-not-really-a-doctor’ and Olga pulled off the deed together. But they hate each other. That’s another quiz. Why would they be in bed together? Rhodes claimed she was a nutty woman who was after a paycheck. She screamed that he’d invented the terrible product that blinded her.” I paused. “Or as we know now, she was not so much blinded.”
Summer squeezed her lids tightly. “Olga puts on quite an act. I don’t see her throwing in with Rhodes. Running the clue list, I keep excluding Glenda. But Tom says she’s still high on the police’s suspect list. Do they know something we don’t? Drew Acherman has done time for violence. He’s a sharpshooter. He claims he was hunting since he was a boy. He’s obviously been around boats and engines.”
“Tom likes Glenda for the setup. But I still say Glenda wouldn’t have had shots coming her way. And last night she broke down. I admit, in the beginning, she appeared way too cool. But I think she was in shock immediately after the shooting. Not indifferent, but maybe so stunned that her demeanor locked up on her. Last night she was intoxicated, and she was devastated. I figured it could have been an act. But acting is tough when you’ve consumed too much booze. Easy to give it away. I saw the wine being gulped, so I know she was emotionally impaired by booze. I asked the security guard. He said she grieved often when she was alone.”
Summer stood. “I’m going for a run. Then I’ll come back, shower, and begin the day.”
“Summer, was Evan upset that I spent the evening out?”
“I’m not sure. She did say that after talking with her father, she thought it best she windup the research today, and fly out. He doesn’t want her to get hurt.”
“It took you all this time to tell me about this?” I huffed.
“It took you all this time to ask about Evan?”
That stopped me. “I see what you mean. I’m no good at romance when I’m in the midst of a case. We might have had something. I botched it by being too involved in the murders.”
“She told me not to tell you, but she said another reason was that
she was worried about you. Worried that you might be harmed if you didn’t keep your edge. She feels uneasy about all of us carrying our weapons. Too many guns make civilians uneasy,” Summer said with a shrug.
When Summer exited, I wrote a note to Evan. I put it in the guestroom on her luggage. I offered to take her to the airport. I expressed my sorrow that we wouldn’t have more time together.
Then I cursed. I got out to my car. One would have thought I was in a swearing competition with Pluma. If not the threat of losing a profanity contest to a parrot, I would have strongly competed. I slipped a lemon drop in my mouth to console myself.
My mind was pounding out hints from each conversation I’d had. I would first go to West Palm to check out Olga’s alibi again. She and her Mr. were home at the time of the shooting. Neighbors could corroborate her statement. And they had. They would testify they’d seen both of the Carletons that morning. Times were sketchy, and differing. But they’d seen them.
Yet I would keep looking for anything out of place. Or in the least oddly criminal. I also wanted to chat with her husband, Rex.
The house looked closed for business. Curtains drawn. Maybe, I concluded, they were in Miami visiting their cop son. Media film never showed photos of her son, Andrew or Andy. Perhaps he was embarrassed by her lawsuit against Perrault Cosmetics. Some cops see enough litigation because they often need to testify.
When smacking the door to get attention didn’t do any good, I walked to the back of their home. It looked as though Rex Carleton might have been in the junk business. There was a small hauling trailer with rusted hardware, and nearly rotted boards. It was filled with junk iron, an odd selection of broken household items, and even books.
“What you want?” I heard a voice behind me. His voice was as gravelly as his wife’s. They might have had problems when answering the phone – hard to determine one of their voices from the others. Other side of the coin – they could easily cover for one another.
