Body Wave

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “So Harriet is a descendant of one of those millionaires from the north?”

  “Correct.” Lorraine wrote down the woman’s address. “Take Tarpon Avenue to the end and park in the lot at Craig Park. You can walk to her house from there. Harriet will be able to tell you more about Piotr’s family. Sadly, after he rejected her, she never married.”

  As directed, Dalton drove down Tarpon Avenue, which ended at Spring Boulevard. Turning left, they passed Banana Street before entering a parking lot next to a bayou that looked like a huge lake.

  “Let’s use that path.” Dalton indicated a concrete walkway winding around the water’s edge.

  Dead leaves crunched underfoot as Marla kept pace with his long stride. A cool breeze blew off the murky brown water, bringing with it a briny odor. Wishing she’d worn a jacket, she hugged her arms as she watched a stingray swim by in the water, chasing a school of fish. In the distance, a couple of boys fished off a jetty. A crescent of mansions faced the bayou, some fully restored, others needing work. Squirrels scampered across grassy lawns toward oak trees draped with Spanish moss.

  On North Spring Boulevard, they climbed to the road and crossed the street. Continuing on the sidewalk, they passed a house originally built in 1885 according to a plaque. It had a gated driveway with a No Trespassing sign. Farther along, Marla paused in front of a delightful pink house with white gingerbread trim, a hexagon turret, and a wraparound porch. It reminded her of candy canes. A gazebo stood on the front lawn.

  “Is this Harriet’s place?” she asked.

  Dalton referred to the paper Lorraine had given them. “Nope. Move on, we don’t have time to linger.”

  Nor was it the three-story house with the myriad angles and gabled windows that made Marla eager to explore. Harriet’s address led to an austere cocoa and white manor with multiple chimneys and fan windows, highlighted by a columned porch and center turret. Despite the sunshine casting a soft afternoon glow on its facade, Marla shivered. The house reminded her of the Haunted Mansion at Walt Disney World. An unkempt lawn did little to assuage the dismal effect.

  “Can I help you?” asked the woman who opened the door at their summons. Her strong, assertive voice went along with a pair of piercing blue eyes.

  Dalton flashed his badge. “We’d like some information about Jeremiah Dooley, if you don’t mind. This is my fiancée, Marla Shore.”

  Harriet glanced speculatively from Dalton to Marla. “I only have a few minutes. I’m on my way to a meeting for the Garden Committee.”

  “We won’t take much of your time,” Dalton reassured her.

  As they followed the older woman inside, Marla tried to reconcile her expectations with Harriet Stanton’s surprisingly youthful appearance. If she was within Piotr’s age range, she should be in her eighties. But the lady didn’t look a day over sixty. Her bleached blond hair, too light for her coloring, was teased into a bouffant style as though she’d just come from the salon. She walked with an erect, proud posture. Her flowered silk blouse hung a bit loose on her thin frame, but it tucked snugly into the waistband of a knee-length skirt.

  “You have a beautiful house.” Marla halted in the foyer that had a wood parquet floor. A long hallway stretched ahead with archways leading to different rooms. From the unassuming exterior, she’d never have guessed the inside could be so impressive. Too bad they didn’t have time for a tour.

  Harriet gestured for them to take seats in the living room. “You’re probably wondering why I live alone in a house with twelve rooms and five fireplaces. My father made his money in timber, and he used cypress and hard pine to build this place. It needs a lot of renovation, but that won’t get done until my cousin inherits.” She chuckled. “Poor Mortimer will have to wait awhile. His kids are more likely to inherit.”

  Dalton balanced himself on the edge of an armchair. “Lorraine Parker said you were nearly engaged to Piotr Sebastian.”

  “That’s right.” Harriet’s glance fell to the Oriental rug covering the floor. “Did she tell you I never married after the shock I received?”

  “You must have been terribly hurt,” Marla said kindly, settling onto a sofa.

  The woman’s narrowed gaze swung to meet hers. “Piotr had promised we’d announce our engagement after he returned from a business trip to Fort Lauderdale. You can’t imagine how I felt when he came back with a bride.”

  “I thought he was a sponge diver,” Dalton commented.

  “Piotr was a diver, but he also acted as a buyer for other interests. My family had hoped for better prospects for me, so they were thrilled when he returned with another woman. All I wanted was Piotr. A more dashing man you’d never meet.”

  “Did Piotr explain how he’d met the woman he married?” Marla asked, crossing her legs.

  “Colleen worked for a family with whom he had business dealings. You could tell she was Irish working class. We all thought it strange how she delivered a full-term baby eight months later.”

  “Did Jeremiah resemble his mama?”

  “Well, now that’s the odd part. Jeremiah didn’t have any of Piotr’s dark Greek looks, nor did he have Colleen’s red hair or fair complexion. His brown eyes and hair were a puzzle. The girl, she looked to be the spitting image of her mother.”

  “What girl?” Dalton demanded.

  “Their daughter, Katie. Didn’t you know Jeremiah had a sister?”

  “We had no idea,” Marla said. “Does she live in Tarpon Springs like her brother?”

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open. “Land sakes, gal, Jeremiah left these parts ages ago.”

  “Are you sure? His Ministry of Hope is located on the outskirts of town. We have an appointment to meet him there.”

  Harriet regarded her with amusement. “That’s his mission headquarters. He records his television show elsewhere. I thought he had a place down south. Miramar, maybe? No, it’s in Margate.”

  Margate? That’s just north of Fort Lauderdale. It meant he hadn’t been far away from Kimberly after all. “Where does his sister Katie live?”

  “I haven’t a notion, honey. I haven’t seen her for quite some time.”

  Marla handed her a business card. “If you hear of Katie’s whereabouts, can you notify us?”

  “All right. Say, Jeremiah hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?”

  “Nope, we’re just gathering information,” Dalton said with a disarming smile. He rose, signaling Marla to follow. “Thanks so much for your cooperation, Miss Stanton.”

  In the car, Marla voiced what had been on her mind during their silent walk to the parking lot. “Jeremiah doesn’t live in Tarpon Springs but closer to home. He may even have been around the morning of Kim’s murder.”

  “That doesn’t mean much. As far as he’s concerned, all we have on him is an old photo from Kim’s family album, plus neighborly gossip. That doesn’t provide a clear connection between him and the deceased.”

  “Stan said Jeremiah called on Kim one day when she wasn’t home,” Marla reminded him as they headed for the main road.

  “So what?”

  “Kim’s neighbor thought she might be fooling around with Jeremiah. He drives an expensive car. Someone paid her tuition at the design school and gave her reason to believe she’d have enough money to leave Stan.”

  “Hmm.” He directed his gaze forward, not meeting her questioning glance. “Maybe the neighbor was right,” he said after a short interval. “I tried to talk to you about it the other day on the phone, but you cut me off.”

  She remembered their quick conversation while in the car on her way to the Pearls’ house on Thursday. He’d started to say something when she’d arrived at the house and hung up. She had forgotten to ask him about it on Friday when he came for dinner. “What did you learn?”

  “We got the medical examiner’s report. Kimberly was pregnant.”

  “What?” It was a good thing she wasn’t driving, or she would have swerved off the road. “Bless my bones, Stan wouldn’t have harmed he
r if Kimberly had been expecting their child. You can’t possibly suspect him anymore.”

  “What if he knew the child wasn’t his?”

  “Dammit, you’re still trying to pin this on him.”

  “I am not. Be reasonable and consider the possibilities.”

  “You’re the one who’s not being reasonable! No matter what, you still come back to accusing Stan. Admit it that you’re jealous.”

  His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “That’s not fair. You don’t have any faith in me.”

  “Ha! Look who’s talking.”

  “I’m doing my job, examining all the angles, which is more than I can say for you. You’re the one who’s biased.”

  “Because I know Stan didn’t do it.”

  “You see?”

  Angry words hovered on her tongue, but she bit them back, clenching her teeth. Staring out the side window, she forced herself to review the options. Would Stan have been happy if Kimberly bore his child when he already supported two children from his previous marriage? Maybe he’d flown into a rage when Kim told him they’d be adding a new family member. Grabbing his letter opener, he’d followed his wife downstairs.

  No, she discarded that scenario.

  Let’s look at other possibilities. What if the child wasn’t Stan’s? That would give him an even greater motive to kill his wife in a fit of passion. But it gave others a motive as well. Kim’s classmates said she intended to hook up with Gary after leaving Stan. Had Kim mentioned to her best friend Lacey that she was pregnant? Maybe Lacey, who lusted after Gary, had killed Kim in a jealous rage, believing the father to be Gary. Or maybe Gary himself had done the deed. From the state of his business, it didn’t look as though he could support any added burdens. Then again, if he was misleading Kim for her money and really intended to stick with Lacey, he might have gotten rid of Kim to save that relationship.

  Gads, it was all so complicated. She ran a hand over her face, hating herself for her suspicions and resenting Dalton for making her wish she could take back her angry words. Was he considering the same possibilities, or did he truly believe Stan to be guilty? Stubbornness kept her from discussing the issues with him. He’d accused her of being biased, but he was the one who kept pointing the finger at Stan. Besides, if he’d heard Kim was pregnant, why hadn’t he told her sooner? She must be the only one who hadn’t known.

  Leah’s enigmatic sentence popped into her brain: She couldn’t have chosen a more convenient time to die. Of course! If Stan and Kim had offspring, then Leah’s children would no longer be his prime beneficiaries. Leah’s remark implied she knew about Kim’s pregnancy. Yet somehow, Marla couldn’t think of Leah as a killer.

  How about Elise Addison, who suspected her husband Cliff was cheating on her? If Kim had confided she was pregnant, Elise might have jumped to the conclusion that her husband was the father. She might have offed Kim to get rid of the competition. On the other hand, Jessica Shpritz had implied that Jeremiah Dooley was Kim’s paramour. The minister wouldn’t want his reputation sullied. Had he bumped her off to silence her?

  Kim was getting money from somewhere. Maybe she’d threatened Jeremiah with a paternity suit if he didn’t cough up the dollars. He might have paid her tuition and promised a large enough bonus to get her started on her own, away from Stan.

  She looked forward to their discussion with Jeremiah Dooley. He might be twenty-plus years older than Kimberly, but that wouldn’t matter to a gold digger. What had Jessica called him—a sugar daddy? Maybe Kimberly had found her golden ticket, but he’d torn it up in her face before she could collect the final prize.

  Whatever else he was, Jeremiah Dooley might be their key to unlocking the mystery of who killed Kimberly Kaufman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ministry of Hope stood in the glaring afternoon sun like a concrete bunker in the middle of farm country. The Tarpon Springs headquarters for Jeremiah Dooley’s organization consisted of a square tan building with a single door in front and a second level that led to a tiered structure of concrete tanks, metal walkways, pipes and hoses. Beyond stretched raised ponds interspersed with sandy trails in a patchwork pattern.

  Marla shoved herself out of Dalton’s car with a groan of fatigue. Dust clogged her nostrils, adding more misery to the heaviness at her temples. She didn’t look forward to the five-hour drive home they had yet to make. A mental review of her work schedule for the next day made her even more tired. Between sleuthing, styling, and managing the salon, she had no free time. This visit had better be worth it.

  Dalton tossed his jacket onto the backseat before signaling for her to move on. “Let’s check this guy out, and then we’ll be finished here for the day. You look as beat as I feel.”

  As they neared the front entrance, a sign directed visitors to a stairway in the back. They trudged over grass, brown and brittle from lack of rain, to an access area in the rear with gaping double doors. Against a wall leaned an assortment of fifty-pound aquaculture feed bags.

  Inside the garage-like entrance, rakes and other garden implements stood propped beside a washer and dryer, a selection of hoses, and a row of eel tanks. Peering into one tank, Marla grimaced when a slimy black creature slithered to the surface.

  “Hello there,” said a gray-haired man wearing jeans and a green polo shirt. His casual outfit seemed incongruous for a guy with his dignified bearing, but he appeared at ease in these surroundings. Marla couldn’t believe this was the same man she’d seen on television, where he’d ruled the pulpit with such fervor. She would never have pictured him on a fish farm.

  They’d caught him in the middle of a conversation with two young men in shorts. “Finish your measurements, and then get back to me,” he told them before approaching his visitors. He spoke with a Southern accent that hadn’t been noticeable on his TV show. “You must be Mr. Vail and his fiancée. I’m Reverend Dooley.” His brown eyes shone with friendly welcome.

  They shook hands, then Jeremiah led them up a steep flight of stairs to a makeshift office. It held desks covered with papers, graphs, and posters; trash cans overflowing with empty soda cans; and tilapia fish tanks. Marla gazed in awe as several magnificent specimens swam into view. Wide and sturdy, with shiny scales, they made her mouth water for a seafood dinner.

  “I understand y’all are interested in making a substantial donation to Ministry of Hope,” Jeremiah said with a fatherly smile. “I can’t tell you how much our congregants need your help. Our operations in Latin countries provide jobs for hundreds of workers, and food for more. Your contribution will help us carry forth the Lord’s work.”

  “I’m not familiar with tilapia farming, but I imagine it must provide a good source of revenue,” Marla murmured, smoothing her pants. She must look rumpled after a day of travel. She’d left her blazer in the car, and her top stuck to her sweaty back.

  “Indeed.” Jeremiah gestured to the fish tanks. “Tilapia has been raised as far back as ancient Egypt. Legend tells us that tilapia was the fish our Lord multiplied to feed the masses. Since it comes from the Nile River, this is probably true. Tilapia is the most popular fish in freshwater aquaculture because it’s so hardy and easy to breed.”

  “Really? What does that mean in terms of production values?” Marla asked, attempting to gauge his organization’s financial status.

  “Just to give you an idea, annual yield in the United States approximates twenty million pounds,” Jeremiah said, puncturing his remarks with gestures. “In Florida, fish farms produce over one million pounds per year. Let me add that tilapia are a tropical fish.”

  Marla cast a glance at Dalton. While she’d kept Jeremiah occupied, he had sidled over to peer at a stack of papers on the minister’s desk. She could tell he was more interested in the office accoutrements than the fish tanks. Okay, I can play this game, she told him silently.

  “What happens with temperature variations?” she queried, plastering a look of rapt fascination on her face.

  “Warm water
increases their growth rate. Cold weather can kill them if the water temperature drops below fifty degrees.”

  “What are these different types?”

  The reverend pointed to each tank in turn, speaking like a professor to a student. “This is blue tilapia, which is naturalized in Florida and inhabits the Everglades. That’s white tilapia, and the other one is a hybrid of Nile tilapia. You can tell by its stripes. The hybrid is also more aggressive.”

  “I’m curious,” Dalton said from the opposite side of the room. “If you direct your activities from this location, where do you film your television shows?”

  Jeremiah puffed out his chest. “I live in Margate, and I do the shows from a studio in Miami. Regarding the missions, we have a manager who oversees our business operations, and an aquaculture specialist who supervises the farms. So I only come up here on special occasions, to meet folks like you or to make sure everything is running smoothly.” His eyes narrowed, as though he’d just noticed Dalton wasn’t listening to his lecture. “You said you’re from Palm Haven, but I didn’t catch the name of your company.”

  Dalton had a ready answer. “I’m in security, and Marla owns a chain of hair salons. Why don’t you give the good reverend one of your business cards, sweetcakes?”

  She returned his dazzling smile with a conspiratorial wink. Handing Jeremiah a card, she said, “This is for my anchor store. Come in sometime, and I’ll give you a complementary cut.”

  The minister’s hair didn’t have a single strand out of place. He must use a generous share of his pocket money on hair spray. Her glance took in his manicured fingernails. No wonder he didn’t work on the farm; it might soil his hands. She hoped to kick up some dirt herself while they were here.

  “My friend mentioned your show,” Marla ventured. “Her name was Kimberly Kaufman. Maybe you read about her in the newspapers since you live near Fort Lauderdale. She was murdered a couple of weeks ago.”