"Grace, you might want to call your daughter to arrange for a place to stay," Officer Hughes said. "This condo will be off-limits for a little while. We will let you know when you can return."
"Already done," Elyse said. "I still have Stephanie's number in my phone from when I sold her a house last year. I texted her while we were at Connie’s. She should be here any minute."
At Connie’s insistence, they went back to her place to wait for Stephanie in peace and quiet, since all the activity was putting Grace on edge.
“One more question, Grace,” Detective Hughes said before they left. “Does anyone besides Paula and Connie know where you hide your spare key or have a key themselves?”
She shook her head. “Besides my daughter, who also has her own key, there’s nobody else who knows where I keep it.”
They returned to Connie’s, and a few minutes later there was a knock on the door. Connie opened it to an attractive woman with long, dark blond hair, who looked to be in her early forties. Connie recognized her from the photo with the angel statuette that Grace had retrieved on her phone.
The woman looked past Connie and rushed over to Grace. Breathing a sigh of relief, she greeted her with a concerned hug. Quick introductions were made, and after catching Stephanie up to speed, she and Grace agreed that they would both return to Stephanie’s, at least for the night.
Before they left, Grace went to get a glass of water. Connie tried to make conversation with Stephanie but was unable to hold her attention. She seemed a million miles away and kept fidgeting with her purse.
"Don't worry, your mother will be okay. She's a strong lady," Connie said.
Stephanie smiled nervously. “I came as soon as I could. I’m a physical therapist and have been seeing patients all day. Luckily, I was just finishing up with a client when Elyse texted. Otherwise, I might not have seen your message right away.”
As soon as Grace reappeared from the kitchen, they left.
"Honey, it's going to be a late night," Officer Miller said to his wife. “I have to get back to the crime scene.”
"Okay. Emma and I will see you at home when you get there," Elyse said, giving her husband a quick kiss. She glanced at her phone. "I have to pick her up from her friend's house in fifteen minutes."
"Before you leave," Officer Miller said, "did you two hear anything suspicious at all while you were in here earlier?"
They shook their heads. "We talked, and I toured the condo,” Elyse said. “It wasn't until we heard the sirens that we realized anything was wrong."
Elyse grabbed her purse and binder, and Connie walked her to the elevator.
"I hope the police can get to the bottom of this quickly," Connie said, while they waited. “I can't imagine what poor Grace must be going through. I know there was no love lost between Hank and her, but she was my aunt's best friend, and I know she has a heart of gold. There is just no way she would have done this."
Elyse nodded in agreement. "I can't see her doing anything like that, either. Even if Hank did have a tendency to take things too far."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that he was persistent. Stephanie was constantly telling him she wasn't interested, but that never stopped him from trying. But I agree with you. I don't think she could have killed him."
Connie remembered how angry Grace seemed at Hank when they encountered him earlier that morning in the elevator. Could seeing him have triggered some type of rage in her over his persistent interest in Stephanie? Connie shook her head and quickly dismissed the thought. There was just no way.
After Elyse left, Connie grabbed a light sweatshirt and took Ginger's leash from a hook in the foyer. "Come on, girl. We could both use a nice, long walk."
Ginger's tail wagged in agreement.
Connie attached the leash and took an excited Ginger around the building, allowing the eager dog to pull her toward the water. She strolled along the packed sand while the crystal clear waves crashed against her legs, forming a cotton-white spray above her feet. The cares of the day receded with the tide as the setting sun set the sky ablaze.
Connie thought back over the events of the afternoon. So much had happened since she dropped off her mother and her sister at the airport that morning.
At this point, it didn't make sense to list the condo until the killer was behind bars. After all, who would want to buy a home in a building where a killer could be roaming around? She would never get the full value of condo until the murder investigation was settled. With what was left of her savings, she could afford to carry the property for a few more months, if need be.
She would call home in the morning, when she had more energy, and update her family on what was going on. She still planned to remain in Sapphire Beach for the next nine days to sort through Concetta's belongings and get everything ready to list.
After about twenty minutes, darkness descended on the beach, so she turned around to head home. No point in being out at night with a killer on the loose, even if it looked like Hank hadn't been a random target.
On her way back, she couldn't help but look up at Grace's balcony. A shiver shot through her body as she thought of what took place just a few hours before.
When she got back upstairs, Connie drew the curtains to cover the night sky and fixed herself a cup of herbal tea. She tried to settle into a comfy armchair, but it was no use. Her thoughts began racing again as soon as she left the beach. She deposited the half empty mug onto the counter and wandered into Concetta's scrapbooking room. She might as well get a jump on tomorrow's work. She assembled a few boxes and set to work packing up some scrapbooks.
Her aunt's books were organized and labeled on shelves on one wall, while her supplies sat on another set, organized in baskets and labeled. There was a folding table in the middle of the floor, so that the room could be easily transformed from a workspace to a guest room.
When guests would come, the Murphy bed provided an instant guest bedroom, since the table could easily be tucked away in the small walk-in closet between the bedroom and bathroom. More recently, Grace had been sleeping there to be closer to Concetta during her illness. There were also two armchairs, set up conversation style, with a small table in the middle, placed in front of a double window overlooking the beach. Connie cracked the window to let in the fresh January air.
She perused scrapbook titles, which were written on the spine of each book and organized in chronological order. Connie loved looking at the ones from Concetta's acting days and recalled afternoons spent on the armchairs in that very room, with her aunt recounting stories of her glory days. Some of those memories must not have been so glorious, since Concetta retired early to Sapphire Beach after her divorce, saying she was tired of the lifestyle.
One of the books, entitled "Best Friends," caught her attention. It was filled with photos and memorabilia from different things she and Grace had done over the years. There was a section labeled "Key West" with a photo of her and Grace on either side of the Southernmost Point Buoy, the farthest point south in the U.S., a mere ninety miles from Cuba. There was another of Concetta driving a moped with Grace clinging to her tightly on the back. And another of the two in front of Hemingway's House, with two ticket stubs next to the photo, followed by another of Concetta and Grace having a glass of wine at Sloppy Joe's, a bar that Hemingway frequented.
Concetta looked as happy as Connie had ever seen her, with her best friend by her side. Seeing the scrapbook reinforced for Connie just how much her aunt loved Grace. Concetta was a good judge of character and could never have been so close to someone capable of committing murder. Grace deserved answers to what happened in her home, and Connie had to help her in any way she could. There was no doubt in her mind that Concetta would have wanted that.
After a couple of hours of flipping through albums and packing, fatigue overtook her, and she went to bed.
There was just one thing that bothered her as she drifted off to sleep. As long as the police spent their time and r
esources investigating Grace, there would be a killer wandering the streets of Sapphire Beach. And he or she had obviously had access to Palm Paradise.
Chapter 5
"What? A murder? Your father and I will be on the first flight back to Sapphire Beach to take you home!"
Connie held the phone at arm's length to put some distance between her ear and her mother's shrieking voice. She had considered not telling her family about the murder, but quickly decided against that idea. She would never live it down when they finally did hear about it.
"Mom, please, the police are saying it wasn't a random murder. It looks like someone specifically targeted the victim, so there's no reason to believe I'm in any danger." The last thing Connie wanted was her week in Sapphire Beach to turn into a three-ring circus. She had some thinking to do about the direction of her life, and she hoped that some alone time would help her gain a little perspective. It usually did. "Besides, it all went down in Grace's apartment, and she's very upset, so I want to be here for Grace. After all, she was there for Auntie Concetta when she needed her most."
There. Her mother's strong sense of loyalty to friends and family wouldn't permit her to argue with that logic.
"You're right. The poor woman."
Connie smirked. She could practically see her mother shaking her head. "After all she did for my sister, you certainly can't abandon her now. Just promise me you'll be careful."
"I'll just be cleaning out the apartment as planned, and I'll be home before you know it. I spoke to Elyse Miller, the realtor you recommended, yesterday," she said, changing the subject. She knew talking business would calm her mother down.
"I'm so glad. I asked around, and she sells a lot of condos in the building. I think she'd be the best person to list it with."
"We discussed some of the details, but with everything that's happened, I was thinking I might get a better price if I hold off on listing it until the investigation is complete and the police have made an arrest."
"That could take a little while, honey. Can you afford to carry both condos?" her mother asked, referring to Concetta's and her own near Boston.
"Not for too long, but I'll just take it one day at a time. Hopefully this will all be resolved soon." Especially if she could help move along the process by looking into a few things herself. "I'll keep you posted, Mom, and I promise I'll be careful. Love you."
Now that that conversation was out of the way, she could finally focus on what she was there to do.
After a smoothie and a little caffeine in the form of English Breakfast tea, she took Ginger for a long walk. The Florida sun, like a gift from a faithful friend, and the palm trees swaying in a warm breeze left her feeling oddly refreshed, despite the fact that there had been a murder yesterday just few doors down.
She tried to breathe in the beauty of her surroundings while she walked Ginger. During one of her visits with her family, she had checked out a library book with photos and descriptions of the various palm trees in southwest Florida, and she often tried to identify them as she walked or drove around Sapphire Beach. The coconut palms, with their iconic fruit resting at the base of the palm branches, were the easiest to recognize. But the elegant Bismarck Palms were her favorite. Often by the end of a visit, her phone would be filled with snapshots of palm trees, banyan trees, and an array of native flowers, some of which she had printed and hung in her condo. Walking amidst such beauty brought peace. It was good for the soul.
When Connie returned home, she made quick work of bagging her aunt's clothes and loading the bags into her car to take to a nearby thrift shop. She purposefully didn't spend too much time looking at the items, since that would be too emotional, and the job would never get done. Besides, she and her family, and, of course, Grace, had already taken a few things that they wanted to hold onto in remembrance, especially from Concetta's elegant collection of silk scarves in every color and style. The light, silky garments were not very practical in Boston's winter months, but when she wore something of Concetta's on occasion, it felt like her aunt was there beside her.
The thrift shop was a major source of fundraising for Our Lady, Star of the Sea, Concetta's parish and the church she and her family attended when they were in town. There was no doubt in Connie's mind that that was what her aunt would have wanted.
After bringing the clothes to the thrift shop's donations drop-off area, she drove around front to the entrance of the shop to take a look around. She wasn't in a shopping mood, but working for a small non-profit, she never missed an opportunity to check out a successful fundraising endeavor.
As she glanced down the aisles, taking in the expansive collection of previously-owned clothes, games, books, and kitchenware, a man who was perusing men's shirts caught her attention. She studied him for a moment, scanning her mind to place him, then remembered that it was Bob Morgan, one Hank's friends whom she had met in the lobby the previous day during all the post-murder chaos. He wore a slight scowl as he examined a short-sleeved blue-and-white plaid shirt. She couldn't resist the opportunity to ask a few questions and see if she could learn anything about Hank's murder.
She came up beside him, pretending to be checking out the merchandise.
"Bob?"
He glanced up from the shirt and looked at her blankly.
"I'm Connie Petretta. We met yesterday in the lobby after that unfortunate incident at Palm Paradise." Had she really just referred to the murder of this guy's friend as an 'unfortunate incident?'” She quickly extended her hand. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I understand you and Hank were good friends."
He switched the shirt to his left hand, so he could shake her hand with his right. He gave the sense that she was putting him out but answered her politely, anyway. "Yes, we go - I mean went - way back. I still can't believe what happened.”
"I know. Everyone is shaken up, especially Grace. Since it happened in her apartment, I'm sure she's a suspect, or at least a person of interest."
"Well, she certainly wasn't one of Hank's biggest fans. I've seen her get pretty angry with him when he would hit on Stephanie," he said.
Connie's cheeks grew hot. Was he insinuating Grace might have done it?
"Then again," he added, returning the plaid shirt to the rack and picking up another, "everyone knows that Hank had no shortage of enemies."
"Are you referring to his relationships with women?"
"Well, that and other things. For Hank, all was fair in love and war. He would go after what he wanted, no matter who it hurt, when it came to both love interests and business. He always watched out for number one."
"Bob!" A man's voice called from behind. It was Roger, whom she had met along with Bob during yesterday's chaos. "Let's let the dead rest in peace, huh? I can't stand this place, anyway. It smells like dirty laundry. I'll meet you in the car." He nodded briefly at Connie and disappeared down one of the aisles that lead to the front of the store.
Bob bit his lower lip and abruptly put the shirt back. "Look, Roger's right. I really shouldn't have said that. Hank was a close friend, and I've already talked to the police. I'd rather just remember his good points and not say any more. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course, and again, I'm very sorry for your loss." Hank must have had some redeeming qualities, even though Connie didn't know what they were.
He nodded and as he started to leave, Connie suddenly remembered the aloe plant that Paula had left in Grace's apartment on the day of the murder. Being so close to Hank, Bob would probably know something about his relationship with his ex-wife. She hesitated, not wanting to be obnoxious, since he already made it clear he was done talking, but decided to go for it. "Before I go, I just have to ask. Do you think Paula could have had anything to do with it? What was their relationship like?"
Bob discreetly looked around. Seeing there was nobody within ear shot, he confided, "Look, I told the police if they were smart, they'd take a look at Paula. Those two had a love/hate relationship, but one thing that was never la
cking between them was passion."
Chapter 6
When Connie returned to Palm Paradise, she made a quick stop in the lobby on her way upstairs to check the mail. There was nothing but a few pieces of junk mail, which she planned to recycle, but one of them caught her attention. It was flyer from Paula O'Rourke offering an introductory discount on her plant nanny services. This gave Connie an idea.
Once she got back upstairs, she rifled through her aunt's address book and found Paula's contact information. Remembering that she used to take care of Concetta's plants, Connie quickly wrote out a thank-you note on a blank card she found in Concetta's desk and tucked it in her pocket. Perfect. That would give her a solid excuse to stop by Paula's and ask her a few questions. The rest of her work around the house would hold until later.
She thought about taking a photo of Ginger with her to see if the woman knew anyone who might want a dog but decided against it. If she was a killer, she wasn't getting her hands on that sweet dog.
Paula lived in unit 1301, one of the penthouse apartments. Connie knocked on the door and was greeted by a woman with short, blond hair that was slightly disheveled. She looked to be in her mid-fifties and wore a long sleeveless, cotton lavender dress, revealing well-defined shoulders and biceps. Now that she saw her, Connie vaguely remembered meeting her at Concetta's wake.
"Hi Paula, my name is Connie Petretta - Concetta Belmonte's niece. I just stopped by to give you this," she said, handing her the card. "I wanted to thank you in person for all you did for my aunt. I understand you took fantastic care of her beloved plants." Connie felt a twinge of guilt implicating her aunt's name in a white lie, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Paula smiled halfheartedly. "Oh, yes, of course." Her eyes met Connie’s, but her gaze seemed distant. "Your aunt was a wonderful woman. Please come in."
She followed Paula into a living room that looked as if it were straight from a designer magazine. Light gray tiles, designed to look like weathered wooden planks, covered every square inch of the visible floor, and teal pillows accented the white living room sofas and chairs. Exquisite vases and accessories in complimenting blues and greens were tastefully arranged throughout the space. It felt both beachy and high-end. Paula certainly wasn't a plant nanny for the money. She must love the work.
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