Trevar's Team 2

by Kieran York

  I turned to see Rex making his way toward me. The last image I’d seen of him was when I looked at the media film of their court case. He had a limp. However, as he moved there was no hint of a limp. “Mr. Carleton. I’m Beryl Trevar.”

  “I know, I seen you before. You’re that nosey detective. We don’t want snoops around here. You’re on my property.” With his shoulders lifted, he didn’t look as weak as he had appeared. About six-foot, and a bit huskier, Rex had a haggard, angry face. “I don’t know what you’re bothering us for. My son is a police officer and he said we don’t need to talk with you.”

  “You don’t want to clear your name?”

  “My name is clear. And I want you off my property. You got no right at all being here.”

  His movement was good for a mid-fifty-year old suddenly pretending to have a limp. I’d ask Rachel to check out how many slip and fall lawsuits he might be connected with in the past few years.

  “Looks like you’ve got a pawn shop going on out here. Is any of this for sale?”

  “No.”

  “What about the books over there?”

  “You stay away from them. And everything else on my property.”

  He had put himself in between me and the mound of trash. “It looks like you’re going to throw this away. I have a book collection and I always buy old books. A dollar each.”

  “I want you off this property now,” he ordered sternly. “You got no right to snoop.”

  “I thought I saw a very good book of poetry,” I argued. As I walked ahead of him, I glanced over at the books. Nothing telltale. I reached as I went around the corner and tipped a few books. Several were white power books. Although I didn’t get a good look at any of them, I knew what they were. My brain was saying a very loud whew!

  When I got back to my car, I pulled out my phone and got onto Amazon. I looked up the books, and they would fit into the libraries of a white supremacist. Obviously, the books were being tossed out. Wondering about the dichotomy – Rex’s son a cop, law enforcer. No other signs of KKK placards, or white hoods, and they didn’t look like the type. I questioned if the books might have been part of some clean-out of an apartment, a junk dumpster. It could have meant anything. Now the question was if he wanted me off property because he didn’t want me to see a bunch of old Klan books. Or more likely, he wanted me away from them because they hated me for representing the Perraults. Their sworn enemy.

  The history of the Carleton’s was brief. Background check showed they had lived in Wyoming for several years. No arrests. Nothing since moving to Florida. Clean. With a cop son.

  I chuckled as I started the car. It had to have been my sparkling personality that Rex found a tad too obnoxious for his tastes.

  Driving, I passed by Silky’s, then turned back around to stop and park. It was a little idiosyncrasy of mine. After an ugly interview or interrogation, or just plain unpleasantness, I would always follow up with something pleasing. A walk under palm trees. A stroll on the beach. Or a visit with Silky. Evan’s rental car wasn’t around.

  That reminded me to contact Rachel and see if the results had been released from the crime scene explosion. Negative, she said. Tom Powers had reported that Forensics found nothing. There were the typical mixtures of bomb materials. Products found anywhere, available from a million different stores, and available online. No prints, nothing providing a clue. Or the shadow of a clue.

  “You’re looking glum,” Silky commented as she rounded the counter and placed a cup of coffee in front of me.”

  “Case is going nowhere. Evan is returning to Vermont.”

  “I thought she had another week or two.”

  “So did I,” I answered with such a grumble that I amazed myself. “I understand after her Jeep was blown up, why she would be cautious. And why she would return to the safe spot of Vermont.”

  “Hey, she stayed to play volleyball. That took courage. Maybe she’ll come back after you’ve solved the crime.”

  “I’m not sure this area holds many good memories for her. She was nearly killed.” Hesitating, I admitted, “And I think we’ve solved the case. But it’s one of those crimes that is tough to tie down.” There were so many tentacles in both murders. My thought continued – and one crime seemed as if it would be nearly impossible to prosecute. Money buys power. Power buys everything, I admitted. I felt that old tinge of guilt. Money had once bought me. Bought the services of an attorney. As Rachel often reminded me, I was springing the bad actors.

  Silky grinned. “You two looked at one another as if you cared a little.”

  “It would be difficult to care for someone in my profession. Right now, my mind is whirling with so many complexities. What woman wants that?”

  “One that wants you,” she answered.

  While Silky took other orders, I called Evan to ask if I could take her to the airport. Although I’d left the note for her earlier, I thought she might not have seen in before making arrangements. She reported that her trip to the airport was already taken care of. One of her university friends offered to help her drop the rental car off and take her to the airport. She also explained that she knew I was in the middle of this investigation, and she didn’t want to put me out.

  I told her I’d love to see her again. She replied that she wanted to go back to The Ghost to take another look. She figured it would be sold, or someone would destroy it. She suggested we meet there. That way I could have another chance to evaluate the boat, and get to better know the victim.

  We decided on meeting in half an hour. I chatted with Silky for fifteen minutes, and then drove to the docks.

  Perhaps, I hadn’t realized how wonderfully wide Evan’s smile was. We boarded The Ghost. Old boats and ships were called ghosts, and perhaps they were. Each memory in my mind could also be called a ghost.

  I thought of Pixy. A young woman without a name.

  Again, Evan and I roamed, examining each area. I opened the secret hiding place. I took the two shells. I handed them to Evan. “She’d want you to have these.”

  Evan handed them back. “I’m not certain when they’ll release the body. These belong to Pixy. Maybe you could have them buried with her. They must have meant something to her if she put them in here.”

  I squinted as I looked in the small, dark vacuum of a cave – where hidden things were kept. On the base, nearly stuck down on the floor of the makeshift vault, was a paper. I pulled it out. Drawn were several shells, flowers, a boat, and a seahorse. In very difficult penmanship was the word B-O-T, and L-A-C-E-Y. It had to have been a message. It didn’t make sense. If the paper was a clue, I had no idea what she might have meant. And I would probably not know the meaning until the case was solved. She’d written the name of the woman owning the boat. That may have been the entire message, and meaning.

  ‘Bot’ could have been Pixy’s way of spelling boat. Lacey was the first name of the woman that purchased The Ghost. Perhaps, it meant something to Pixy.

  Sadness washed over me. I didn’t know her. Even though we shared time together. There was an inability to understand her. Confessing that I knew so little hurt me. Although I didn’t know what good the tiny slip of paper could do, I put it in my pocket. I would place it in a frame and keep it on my desk.

  Evan turned on the television. For several minutes, we watched the show that was Pixy’s favorite – her video obsession. When the little seahorse did a flip, Evan sighed deeply. “Beryl, I recall when Ripple the Seahorse did that turn, Pixy stood, jumping around. She pointed to Ripple and then to herself. She patted her chest. Then she pointed down and said fall. I could never understand what she meant. I often wondered if she was warning Ripple not to fall.”

  Silence took our joy. Then I said, “It would have been so difficult to live a life that she had. Yet she always seemed happy. As if entertaining fulfilled her. It was enough. When she wanted to communicate, it wasn’t enough.”

  Evan swallowed. Her eyes filled. “Somehow I feel that way about us.
You and me. We weren’t enough. Maybe one day. I might come back. Maybe next summer. Maybe I’ll catch you between romances and cases.”

  “Maybe.” I felt a sadness. We were drifting out to our own seas. Hers was in Vermont. Mine was here. Her life was doing research to keep sea urchins alive. Mine was finding criminals. “I’m sorry you were endangered.”

  “My father insisted I return. I’m his only child, so I understand his concern.”

  She moved toward me, and I moved into her arms. This kiss we shared was as passionate as any I’d ever know. Softly so, and without expectation. Her goodbye whisper was brief. “Please stay safe.”

  I watched as she went down the rickety boarded dock. She got to the car, waved, and drove away. There was a lump in my throat. I wasn’t certain if my emotions were tangled because one of the Team was nearly killed, and then a woman I cared very much about was also nearly taken. I only knew that I wanted to bring the ones responsible to justice.

  “Ahoy,” I heard. It was Lefty coming out onto the deck of his houseboat. “Too bad that gal is leaving.”

  “Yes.”

  “She was a good ‘en. Why that gal saved Pixy’s life once.”

  “Evan saved Pixy?”

  “Yep. Pixy goes walkin’ down the beach and into the sea. There’s a rip-current a playing with the ocean. Well, quick as quick, Evan swims out there and drags Pixy in. I’ll never forget that. And when I found out Pixy was killed, I thought of how she’d been saved only to finally be lost.”

  For several moments, I hated Ryder Hodges more than I thought possible.

  “Would you like to come in for a brew?”

  “Naw, but thanks. Another time.”

  “I don’t imagine you’ll be comin’ around anymore.”

  “Maybe I will,” I countered. “I never know where I’ll be, or what I’ll be doing.”

  “Think you’re gonna find Pixy’s killer?”

  “Lefty, have you ever had a fish that you keep trying to land? The fish is elusive, and maybe you have even had it hooked, but you haven’t landed it?”

  “I’ve had lots of those. One big old devil had my name on it. Give me a heck of a tussle. But danged if it didn’t keep getting away. I dreamed every night about catching that fish,” he divulged.

  “Did you ever catch it?”

  “Yep. Damned straight I did. But funny thing. I didn’t have it stuffed to put on the wall like a trophy. And I never ate it. I give it to a woman with lotsa little ones. She fed her big family. And I stopped dreaming about that fish.”

  I turned and walked back to my car.

  Probing my mind was not assisting me with the helplessness I felt.

  Chapter 12

  The reoccurring dream of Rachel being shot intruded on my night. Although it was in my imagination only, often times that makes it worse. By morning, I’d found that the sheets surrounding me were twisted and confining. It was as if I might be fighting my way through what had happened to Rachel. I could see the carnelian blood oozing from Rachel’s chest. I felt paralyzed. And often my dreams hiked on to where a young woman with only the name Pixy had been beaten to death.

  I wrote a note to Rachel. We needed to beef up our own security surrounding the yacht. If Ryder or his buddy, Javier, were any kind of swimmers, they could easily attach an explosive device to the hull of our ship.

  Driving directly to the Perrault Mansion took only minutes. Its morning starkness was coming alive with waving palm trees, and the bustle of grounds groomers. Drew was walking briskly toward me as I parked.

  “You’re up early,” he greeted me. Both his hair and his facial stash had been trimmed slightly. The sideburns that had been drooping like hedges, had been evened out. He looked less terrifying. Maybe his boss, Glenda, was on an employee beautification spree.

  “Just checking a couple things. Oh, by the way, I know that you were working on equipment when the shots were fired. Did you hear them?”

  “Everyone here probably did. Except me.”

  “Did you hear the boat motor?”

  “I didn’t hear anything. I can’t help you.”

  Collecting my thoughts, I asked, “Have any of the men working on the yards said anything, discussed anything with you?”

  “These guys just want to get the grass mowed, trees trimmed, and get the hell out of here.”

  “You said you liked Wendell. I’m wanting to solve his murder. Anything you have that would help me, I’d appreciate.”

  His silence wasn’t going to tell me one damned thing.

  At least he didn’t need to manufacture his words.

  I made my way to the mansion’s entrance. Glenda was in her office. She looked up slowly.

  “Hi,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry that I over-imbibed.”

  “As long as you’re okay. I was concerned, but I know you’re going through a loss.” I wasn’t going to tell her that my face felt very hydrated and moisturized. She could easily wrangle me into another makeup session.

  “Most of the employees, and even the police, think I’m too much of a stoic to be mourning. Once in a while, I sip wine. It makes me less lonely. I think of the times Wen and I were having an evening of fun and wine together. Only now I’m alone.” She motioned for me to sit.

  “You mentioned awhile back about being involved in charity work. My crew and I are contributing for some kind of memorial for the murdered woman named Pixy. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a fund raiser, but it does take my mind off losing her. Involvement in a project like that can certainly help with loss.”

  “You’re a friend of hers, that poor little girl?”

  “Yes. She always showed a childlike innocence.” I smiled. “She was special.”

  Glenda’s eyes pinched. “Yes, I often saw her on the streets. Although I purchased her flowers, I should have helped her in some way.”

  “I’m not sure she wanted help then.”

  “Maybe I can help now,” Glenda murmured. “Anything to keep me from the self-pity of losing Wen.”

  “Losing anyone is tough, but in these circumstances, it is even worse. You could have been killed. You’re still contending with the concern of knowing there is a killer out there.”

  Her face registered a flicker of fear. “I’m glad I have security. When my limousine drove through the gates yesterday, there was even a policeman watching.”

  My shoulders leaned far forward. “How did you know it was a policeman?” I inquired.

  “An unmarked car, but he was in uniform.”

  Making a note to check with Tom, I then continued. “Glenda, make certain that your driver doesn’t stop for anyone. Even someone in uniform. Unless it is someone in a marked car. Even then, have your driver call. I’m not trying to frighten you, but until Wendell’s murder is apprehended, you’ll have to be cautious.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. I’ve canceled a few of my personal appearance.”

  “That’s best. It will make it easier on your security detail.” I stood. “I’d better get out there. If you need me, just call.”

  “I truly apologize for the other night. You’re such a lovely woman, I’d hate for your complexion to become crepe skin.”

  “I appreciate your concern. I’ll try to take better care of it.” My smile reassured her.

  “For the sake of your dimples,” she reiterated. “Perrault Cosmetics believe every woman should be an ingénue.” Her goodbye was a tip of the fingers air kiss.

  I got back to my car. Immediately I called Tom to see if he had an officer stationed outside the Perrault Mansion yesterday. He replied there had been no one. He mentioned that Perrault’s security was like a small army. I told him the entire story. He planned to talk with the head of their security company.

  Heading toward the downtown area, I pulled off at Glitters. Although I wanted to talk with both Cheryl Garth, and Aubrey Portilla, the first call was to Officer Jill Timoteo. She was in the area, and drove to where my car was parked.

>   Jill’s demeanor was all business. “Can I help you?” she questioned as if it were an interrogation.

  “Jill, I have a favor to ask you. You worked as a Miami policewoman, right?”

  “Yes, for years before I transferred here. They called us ‘suit and boot’ women. Why?”

  “Did you ever know an officer named Andy or Andrew Carleton?”

  “I heard the name, but didn’t know him.” She hesitated. “I can’t even tell you why I recalled the name. And your favor, you want me to check, right?”

  “Yes. And I want you to keep it under wraps, because I’m not sure it’s important.”

  Her eyebrows shot up when she snickered. “You’re checking on something that is a covert inquiry, and it’s nothing important.”

  We laughed together. “You just cornered me. You are not only methodical, but you’ve got a sense of humor. Okay, it might be important. But I don’t want to alert him to the fact that he’s being checked. If I officially talk with Tom, no telling who might find out.”

  Her head nodded affirmatively, “Thanks for your trust.”

  “Thanks for being someone I can trust.” I looked across the alleyway to where Pixy had been murdered. “Any other information on Pixy?”

  “No. I hope her killer is found, convicted, and executed.”

  Grinning, I added, “That list often takes time. But I’m big on law and order.”

  She returned to her squad car. I walked to the front door of Glitters.

  With a minimum of actual light and glitter, the dance bar was large and forlorn. Cheryl nodded her greeting toward me. “Any news on finding Pixy’s killer?”

  “Nothing,” I answered as I sat at the glitzy bar. “I was just wondering about Aubrey’s shop. Do you know anything about her security system?”

  “I know that it works. I know that she’ll tell you it doesn’t. Or she’ll say that it wasn’t on.”

  “So, you’re thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.