by Diane Capri
“Margaret, it’s time for you to tell me some things, now that Chief Hathaway has decided not to prosecute you for shooting Gil.”
Gil Kelley didn’t die. Margaret had wounded him in the shoulder and he spent time at Tampa General Hospital before being arrested for theft and fraud. He’s hired a well-known defense attorney to try to get him off, and he probably will.
Maybe Kelley had some kind of conscience, after all. He couldn’t be held to account for ruining Margaret’s life. Perhaps he accepted that pressing criminal charges against her would be more than he should, in all decency, do.
“Like what?” she asked me, bent over at the waist, tying the red shoelaces.
“Several unanswered questions have been bothering me. For instance, why did you faint when you saw Armstrong Otter in our courtroom on the day of the Fitzgerald House motions?”
She could have told me to mind my own business, I guess. But as much as I had underestimated Margaret, she wouldn’t be rude to me. I might not have given her enough credit for having a full life, but she had spent every day with me for eons. I did understand some things about her character.
Margaret dusted off her hands, reached into her pocket and pulled out a lace handkerchief, the kind my grandmother once carried. I hadn’t seen a woman with a lace handkerchief in years. Somehow, it didn’t seem odd.
Margaret shrugged and smiled slightly as she answered my question. “My life hasn’t turned out like I thought it would. When I graduated from Plant High School, I was the first person in my family to have gone that far in school. My mother was so proud of me. I felt I had the world by the tail. I was going to go great places, do great things.”
She sounded as excited as that long-ago school girl.
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know that I knew exactly what I would do, even then. But I didn’t expect to wind up a sixty-five-year-old adulteress. I suppose, if I had grandchildren, they’d be appalled,” she smiled, with a little wickedness and no regret.
“So you were having an affair with Armstrong Otter?”
“I wasn’t having an affair with Armstrong Otter. At least, I didn’t know that I was. I’d never met Armstrong Otter in my life before that day in the courtroom.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“No, I don’t suppose you do. Your life has been so different from mine, Willa. You’ve never been on your own. You’ve never been completely free, with no one to answer to and only your whims to guide you. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to fall madly in love with a dashing young man who loved you back, and have no chaperone to tell you ‘No.’ You have no idea how quickly and completely a young girl with a little spirit can lose her heart. And her head.”
As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, Margaret was right.
I had never been so footloose, so free with myself.
I’ve always felt a keen sense of responsibility, a need to work hard, to keep my nose to the grindstone.
I didn’t know what a carefree life would be like, but I was more than a little envious of those who had lived one.
“So you were in love with Otter?”
“Not exactly. I fell in love with David Martin in Nassau. He was friends with Gil Kelley, a boy from home. Although Gil and I certainly were never social equals. David was handsome, kind, fun. I ran into the two of them one day in the straw market and we started doing things together. Exciting things. Like drinking and gambling and riding in fast cars. Things I’d never done before. I loved it. And pretty soon, I loved David, too. It was a short step from there to an affair and a secret marriage a few months later.” She shook her head at her own folly.
“You must have been thrilled, then?” I imagined a younger, carefree Margaret, in love and happy with the man of her dreams.
“For a short while, I was. Exceedingly happy. Happier than I’d ever been before or have ever been since. But then David died and I was devastated. We’d kept our marriage a secret, so I couldn’t tell anyone I was a widow,” she said.
Margaret went to the funeral, where they had a closed casket. No one came except Martin’s co-workers from the bank. She never saw his body or knew who identified it.
“For a long time, I thought David really hadn’t died,” she told me. “The kind of wishful thinking young girls engage in when they want to avoid the truth.”
“But you were right. He hadn’t died,” I reminded her.
“Yes, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t know it for forty years,” she sighed.
A moment later, she explained, “Right after David died, I found out I was pregnant. There was no way I could have raised a child alone in those days. So I gave the baby up for adoption, came back to Tampa. Eventually, I met and married Ron Wheaton and started a new life. I thought Ron would be my life forever. Until I saw David Martin again, quite by accident. I was over at St. Pete Beach, just thinking, one day. I went into the Hurricane restaurant for lunch. Ron was dying, my life was changing before my eyes. The man I had always loved more than any other was truly alive. I had no choice but to keep loving him. I counted on Ron to understand that.” She blinked back tears at the memory.
Another piece of the puzzle fit into place. Margaret’s reaction to Otter when she saw him in the courtroom had bothered me. What had caused her to faint? There was nothing particularly shocking about his appearance as far as I could tell. Otter was dressed a little better for court, but otherwise, looked much the same as I had seen him the day Ron Wheaton died.
But Margaret hadn’t known “David Martin” was “Armstrong Otter.”
It was hearing her lover called by the name of a man she knew to be accused of countless crimes in U.S. v. Otter, the case on my docket that she was familiar with, that crushed her.
Margaret’s dreams of a return to an idyllic life were extinguished by that chance encounter; Otter could have continued to lie to her for a long time if she hadn’t seen him in the courtroom.
“How did you know Otter had killed Ron?” My gut had been right on this one. Chief Hathaway had confirmed the syringe I’d found in Minaret’s azalea bushes was Ron Wheaton’s murder weapon. And he’d confirmed Otter’s fingerprints on it.
Otter had easily overpowered Ron and injected him in the stomach. The medical examiner found the puncture.
Margaret shrugged. “Just a feeling. Ron and I had been arguing about Otter, whom I still thought was David Martin at the time. Ron knew all about my marriage to Martin and our daughter, of course. But he also knew about Otter living in Pass-a-Grille. Ron wanted Otter to stop seeing me. They quarreled the day of the Parade of Pirates at Minaret. At first, I really thought Ron had had a heart attack. But when the suggestion was made that he’d been murdered, I just felt Otter had killed him. It made sense. No one else would want to hurt Ron.”
“Now, let me ask you something,” she said to me. I nodded. “How did you know it was Sandra who had killed Otter?”
Margaret managed to say the name clearly, without choking up, which I saw as another sign she was healing.
What should I tell her, though?
I didn’t know Sandra had killed Otter. Not for sure.
But when Hathaway told me he’d found a witness who saw Margaret push Otter to the ground on Eighteenth Street and leave him there, I remembered how much alike Sandra and Margaret had looked that night.
I suspected Sandra but couldn’t figure her motive.
Until Dad told me about the offshore bank deals.
Sandra was an officer of Tampa Bay Bank, too. She easily could have set up the offshore deals and taken the finder’s fee. I figured Gil didn’t know Sandra was taking the finder’s fee. Nor did she know Gil was embezzling funds from the bank after the deposits had been made. Somehow, Otter had found out and was bleeding them both.
I made the connection when I remembered cutting my hand on the sharp sword point of Sandra’s lapel pin on the day of the Distance Classic. The pin that was a perfect copy of Otter’s Gasparill
a Gold.
As nasty as Sandra had been to me and to Dad, it was no small bet that she was as vicious as a female tiger when protecting her children and her way of life.
Otter must have threatened to expose her thefts when he tried to squeeze her for more money. Sandra probably hadn’t meant to kill him when she shoved him down. But we’d never know.
“Just a lucky guess,” I said, in response to Margaret’s question. “Let’s go.”
I pulled Margaret up off the couch, helped her lock the door, and we fairly sauntered out to Greta, who already had her top down, basking in the Florida sunshine.
Today, Margaret and Willa would have a carefree, frivolous adventure. And, I vowed, more such days to come.
It was long past time for me to lighten up.
EPILOGUE
USING WHAT WE HAD learned from Margaret’s old boxes and what she told us afterward, Dad filed a federal complaint against Gil and Sandra Kelley. Dad hopes the Kelleys will be convicted and go to prison. The insurance company will pay off some of the money they embezzled. On Dad’s recommendation, the company sued Gil and Sandra for restitution. The legal wrangling will go on for years, but at least Dad stopped the bleeding from Tampa Bay Bank.
Margaret has retired. She was eligible to retire anyway and she wants to spend time looking for her daughter. Adoption laws in Florida have changed in the last forty years. With the help of a good investigator, Margaret should be able to find her only child.
Ron Wheaton’s estate went to Margaret. He had no other heirs and since no one objected, the life insurance company paid the death benefits to Margaret. She was lucky, but she also was helped along by a certain United States District Court judge.
Not me.
The CJ.
He had not only employed Margaret at one time, but he thought very highly of her work at the court. CJ made a couple of telephone calls and actually did influence someone to do the right thing.
Not that he thought of it all on his own.
The CJ’s investigation was settled quietly when he admitted guilt. He was able to arrange a confidential agreement allowing him to remain on the bench in an administrative capacity until retirement. His opportunities for advancement to the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals are ruined now. This is unfortunate for me, since the only hope I had of getting rid of him was the Peter Principle—to have him kicked upstairs to Atlanta. I thought maybe this experience might make him more humble.
But, of course, it did nothing of the kind.
Dad and Suzanne returned to New York after the Gasparilla Festival of the Arts. Dad was tempted to buy a few more of Otter’s “Jewels of the World.” Since Otter had died, Dad thought they’d increase in value because of the notoriety of the case. We talked him out of it for the time being. We can only hope that he forgets about the gems until after Otter’s estate is settled.
Otter left Margaret everything in his will, except that his debts so far exceeded his assets that she’ll be unlikely to inherit anything.
Margaret did want the Gasparilla Gold pin that Otter had entered in the Festival of the Arts. She had to pay fair value for it, which was considerably higher because it won the Raymond James Financial Best of Show award.
What she inherited from Ron Wheaton’s estate, after I gave it all over to her, made Margaret a wealthy woman.
She hopes to spend the money spoiling her grandchildren.
* * *
EARLY IN MARCH, AFTER all the Gasparilla hoopla had finally ended and everyone had left, George and I were sitting at our favorite booth in the Sunset Bar, enjoying the quiet. My soul-mother, Kate Austin, walked in unannounced, two days early from her month-long trip to Italy.
I jumped up from the booth and hugged her like I hadn’t seen her in thirty years, not just thirty days. I was telling her how much I missed her and how happy I was to have her home, when I noticed, finally, that she wasn’t alone.
A young man stood behind her.
He looked to be very Italian and about twenty-five years old. He had dark, curly hair and fabulously blue eyes that reminded me of the Aegean. Kate was always bringing someone by the restaurant asking George to give them work.
Oh, no, I thought. Not another chef. The last one she’d offered us was Japanese.
I could see George preparing to tell the young fellow that George’s restaurant didn’t need any more chefs at the moment, when Kate pulled back from me a little and gave George a hug, too.
Then, holding both our hands, she said, “Willa, George, darlings, I’d like you to meet Leonardo Columbo. My husband.”
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for reading my books. You’re the reason I write! If you liked my books, you can help keep my work going by “liking” the books on Amazon and everywhere the option is offered, and by posting your honest reviews of the book to help other readers decide whether it’s worth their reading time. I hope you will. You can find a complete list of my books with links to the book pages for reviews and other information here: Diane Capri Amazon Author Page
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Thanks again for reading!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Diane Capri is a lawyer and multi-published author.
She’s a snowbird who divides her time between Florida and Michigan. An active member of Mystery Writers of America, Author’s Guild, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime, she loves to hear from readers and is hard at work on her next novel.
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Lee Child
THE REACHER REPORT:
March 2nd, 2012
....The other big news is Diane Capri—a friend of mine—wrote a book revisiting the events of KILLING FLOOR in Margrave, Georgia. She imagines an FBI team tasked to trace Reacher’s current-day whereabouts. They begin by interviewing people who knew him—starting out with Roscoe and Finlay. Check out this review from Amazon: “Oh heck yes! I am in love with this book. I’m a huge Jack Reacher fan. If you don’t know Jack (pun intended!) then get thee to the bookstore/wherever you buy your fix and pick up one of the many Jack Reacher books by Lee Child. Heck, pick up all of them. In particular, read Killing Floor. Then come back and read Don’t Know Jack. This story picks up the other from the point of view of Kim and Gaspar, FBI agents assigned to build a file on Jack Reacher. The problem is, as anyone who knows Reacher can attest, he lives completely off the grid. No cell phone, no house, no car...he’s not tied down. A pretty daunting task, then, wouldn’t you say?
“First lines: “Just the facts. And not many of them, either. Jack Reacher’s file was too s
tale and too thin to be credible. No human could be as invisible as Reacher appeared to be, whether he was currently above the ground or under it. Either the file had been sanitized, or Reacher was the most off-the-grid paranoid Kim Otto had ever heard of.” Right away, I’m sensing who Kim Otto is and I’m delighted that I know something she doesn’t. You see, I DO know Jack. And I know he’s not paranoid. Not really. I know why he lives as he does, and I know what kind of man he is. I loved having that over Kim and Gaspar. If you haven’t read any Reacher novels, then this will feel like a good, solid story in its own right. If you have...oh if you have, then you, too, will feel like you have a one-up on the FBI. It’s a fun feeling!
“Kim and Gaspar are sent to Margrave by a mysterious boss who reminds me of Charlie, in Charlie’s Angels. You never see him...you hear him. He never gives them all the facts. So they are left with a big pile of nothing. They end up embroiled in a murder case that seems connected to Reacher somehow, but they can’t see how. Suffice to say the efforts to find the murderer, and Reacher, and not lose their own heads in the process, makes for an entertaining read.
“I love the way the author handled the entire story. The pacing is dead on (ok another pun intended), the story is full of twists and turns like a Reacher novel would be, but it’s another viewpoint of a Reacher story. It’s an outside-in approach to Reacher.
“You might be asking, do they find him? Do they finally meet the infamous Jack Reacher?
“Go...read...now...find out!”
Sounds great, right? It’s available and you can get it HERE. Check it out, and let me know what you think.
So that’s it for now ... again, thanks for reading THE AFFAIR, and I hope you’ll like A WANTED MAN just as much in September.
