"Good morning!" She waved a spatula at me. "Your things are in the bathroom. I figured you'd want to take a shower, but you might want to hurry because the food will be ready any second. The bathroom is to your right. I put out a fresh towel and a new bar of soap."
Wow. Was she a gem or what?
Right off the hall, I found a tiny bathroom with an itsy-bitsy shower stall. While the water warmed up, I caught a glimpse of myself in a medicine cabinet over the sink. My face was bloated. Dark purple bags hung under my eyes. Here I'd been hoping for a tan, some rest, and a glamorous South Beach vibe. No such luck.
Oh, well.
The shower produced a weak stream of water, but it still felt heavenly. I surrendered to the divinity of cleanliness. Afterwards, my fresh clothing seemed to caress me with a reminder of all that was familiar and well-loved.
In the galley kitchen, Skye finished scrambling a mound of bright yellow eggs. She piled them high on two plates. These she carried to a table covered with a snowy damask cloth.
"That smells so good. I think I died and went to heaven. Those vases on the table are beautiful," I said. Three decorated bottles were clustered together. Each held one simple geranium blossom.
"I walk the beach whenever I can and pick up trash. Those bottles washed up in the surf. I glued twine around them and added the rocks and shells. Like I told you, I hope that one day I'll find a way to quit waitressing and sell the things I make."
Skye seemed to have a wonderful sense of style that was oddly incongruous to the rest of this tasteless place. As if reading my mind, she gave me a wry grin. "My roommate and I are not in sync. As you can see, she loves pink."
"Whatever," I said, as I peppered my eggs. "I really appreciate your taking me in. Otherwise I might have spent the night at the Martin County Jail."
"That reminds me. Lou already called this morning, but I begged him to let you sleep a little longer. You were totally out of it."
"Benadryl does that to me." Actually, I was lucky that I hadn't had nightmares about finding Hal Humberger's body.
"I promised him that we'd go straight to the police station after we had our breakfast."
Skye divided crisp bacon strips between us. When toast popped up in a toaster, she raced over and deftly buttered a slice for each of us.
"By the way," she said. "The jail here isn't so bad, but they do get you up at six a.m."
I wondered how she knew about this and decided I wouldn't ask. She'd been awfully kind to me. That was what mattered.
"Can I help you with anything?" I asked, as she hopped up to pour more coffee for both of us. "I should have offered sooner."
Her smile was genuine. "Go on and eat. Would you like cream?"
"Is it the real thing?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Bring it on, please. Like I said, this is heaven. Thank you so much." I dug in and ate with gusto.
"I plugged your phone into its charger for you. You had tried to plug it in, but you didn't get the charger all the way into the outlet last night. You were pretty tired."
"That was thoughtful of you."
"No problem." She wore a gauzy floral skirt, tall boots, and an open-knit sweater over a solid matching camisole. A clip caught her blond hair in a soft chignon.
"You and the detective seem to know each other well.”
Skye sipped her black coffee before answering, "Uh huh." From the deliberate way she avoided my eyes, I knew she wasn't going to make this easy. Rather than ask why she was so comfortable with him, I decided to take another approach.
"Should I trust him?" I asked.
When she turned those sky-blue eyes on me, they were moist with tears of emotion. "Absolutely. You can trust Lou Murray with your life. He's the kindest, most wonderful man in the world. Sure, he's a cop and he's sworn to uphold the law, but he's a cop for all the right reasons. He's decent. He's fair. He won't put up with baloney, but he'll give you the benefit of the doubt."
"That's some endorsement."
She nibbled her last piece of bacon. "Believe me, he's a great guy."
"How long have you known him?"
"Four years."
"How did you meet?"
As if on cue, she popped up and headed for the kitchen. I wondered if she'd heard me. I thought of repeating my question. But instinctively, I knew I should be patient. Skye was working through her thoughts, parsing them, and trying to decide how much to trust me. For most people, inviting a perfect stranger to stay the night was a leap of faith. For her, the invitation had been easy. But telling me how she'd met Detective Lou Murray caused Skye to feel vulnerable. The set of her shoulders changed. Skye grew smaller as though she wanted to curl up in a ball.
I picked up my empty plate and carried it to the sink. She took it from my hands and rinsed it under hot water.
"We met because I'd made a lot of bad choices. Lou rescued me. Most men would have thought I was a piece of garbage, but he gave me a chance. That's how I know he can be trusted. Because of how he treated me. You can't possibly be the sort of challenge I was to him."
I stared at her. "You might be surprised."
16
Two hours of sleep at his desk. That's all Detective Lou Murray had gotten before running his electric razor over his face. He carefully brushed his teeth and changed into a clean shirt, one of two he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk.
Stopping by the ancient Mr. Coffee machine, he poured steaming black java into his mug. Despite the fact that his long night had produced few results in the matter of Hal Humberger's murder, Lou felt optimistic. Today would be a day punctuated by call-backs. In particular, Lou looked forward to talking to someone in St. Louis—anyone, actually—who could give him more insight into Cara Mia Delgatto.
His initial call had been particularly frustrating. Who knew that St. Louis was actually a conglomeration of ninety-one separate municipalities? And that they didn't necessarily share information with each other? His request had seemed so simple: Who the heck was this Cara Mia Delgatto? Who was he dealing with here? What could they tell him about her?
The answer: Not much.
His best resource so far had been Skye.
Next to Showalter, Skye was his best friend. She was also an incredible asset because in her role as waitress at Stuart's busiest restaurant, she observed hundreds of people every day. She knew almost everyone in town, which wasn't implausible when you considered that the population of Stuart was only a little more than 15,000. As a server, she was essentially invisible, so she overheard the darnedest things. More importantly, she possessed women's intuition or ESP or whatever you wanted to call it. Skye could get a bead on most characters in nothing flat. Her accuracy astonished Lou.
When they had a moment alone last night, after Ms. Delgatto excused herself to use the restroom, Skye had flat out told him that Cara Mia Delgatto wasn't their killer.
So who had killed Hal Humberger?
And why?
What was the motive?
Lou felt confident that they had found the means. A crime scene investigator discovered a socket wrench in the trash can near the back door of The Treasure Chest. Although the tool had been wiped clean of fingerprints, the size was nearly the same as the pulpy area of Hal Humberger's skull. Confirmation would come after the autopsy, but the match looked good.
Working from loose notes, Lou had sketched out a timeline. After he finished a time of death, it might be possible to clear Ms. Delgatto and her grandfather Dick Potter.
Lou sipped his black coffee slowly and walked back to his desk to tidy up his papers. What if Skye was wrong? What if Cara Mia was involved? Could Dick Potter be the killer? Dick had been quarrelsome of late, picking fights and taking offense where none was intended. Was it possible Dick was sliding into dementia? Or was this a normal, short-term response to the death of his daughter, Cara Mia’s mother? Dick had changed dramatically after he heard news of his only child’s death. The once tidy old man now showed up in dirty overalls, un
shaven with dirty hair. Worse yet, his mind seemed to be going. Even if Dick swore on a stack of car part catalogs that he'd gone straight home after stomping out of Pumpernickel's, his testimony wouldn't mean much. He'd become unreliable.
Lou hated to think that Dick might be behind this.
"Don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgment," warned Showalter.
Lou knew he was right, but he didn't think Dick was capable of murder.
First things first.
Today Lou would flesh out the skimpy statement Ms. Delgatto had given him.
"You're too eager to clear Ms. Delgatto," Showalter grumbled.
"Maybe," Lou admitted.
“You didn’t want to cross Skye.”
“Probably.”
"You still need to know more about her. She might not be working alone. Better see what you can find," Showalter said. "There's bound to be mention of her on the Internet."
"Ollie?" Lou approached Detective Ollie Anderson's desk, noting with disgust that the man had left donut crumbs all over the surface. Ollie had gone home around two a.m. and returned four hours later with a box of pastries. "See what you can dig up about Ms. Delgatto online, would you?"
"You got it," said Ollie, setting down his éclair, sucking the chocolate icing off his thumb, and typing with two fingers. "Maybe we'll get lucky, and she'll be one of those bleating fools who shares her dirty laundry on Facebook. Or Twitter."
Lou shook his head in disgust. People were casual to the point of being stupid about what they shared online. A private life should be exactly that: private. It was shocking what an investigator could pull up with very little effort.
"How long you think it'll take you to poke around?" asked Lou.
Ollie only grunted.
"I'll be back in a jiffy," said Lou. "I need some fresh air. Skye and Ms. Delgatto will be here any minute."
He stepped out of the concrete block building in time to see a seagull cartwheeling across the cornflower blue of the morning sky. Lou's footfalls startled a tiny green lizard, an American anole. It cocked his head at Lou and blinked solemnly. The cop stopped and stared at the tiny camouflaged beast, admiring how perfectly it had managed to blend in with its perch, a green and yellow croton leaf. "You take care, little buddy," said Lou. "An egret might swoop down and have you for breakfast."
The brown Cuban lizards were crowding out the smaller, more vivid American anoles. Each time Lou caught sight of the slender indigenous fellows, he wanted to do a Rocky-Balboa-on-the-steps type of cheer for the underdog.
Lou walked around the building so he could face the east and get a good whiff of the ocean. He loved living in Florida almost as much as he loved police work. Every day, he silently thanked Bucky for dragging him back into his chosen profession.
Lou's middle name was Michael, and he liked to imagine himself to be an Archangel defending the gates of heaven. Okay, maybe not an angel, but a guardian. What was the Treasure Coast if not Paradise?
He intended to keep it that way.
17
After eating every crumb on my plate. I helped my new friend clear the table. There wasn’t much to do, but I’m not used to sitting, especially if someone else is working. Skye and I made a good team, dispatching the mess quickly.
"I trust Lou," Skye said slowly, as she dried her hands on a towel in the tiny kitchen. "I trust him with my life, but once you get into the legal system, it's hard to get back out."
I nearly muttered, "Don't I know it."
"If I were you," she continued, "I wouldn't talk until you get a lawyer. You need to watch your back, girlfriend."
There was more to Skye than I'd originally thought. More darkness and more sorrow.
She glanced at the clock on the stove. "We need to hustle. It won't look good if you show up late," she said.
The thought of going another round with a law enforcement office made my stomach knot up. But there was no help for it.
After we got into her car, I rolled down my window and guided the conversation to Skye's love of crafts. As she talked happily about the subject, I learned two new vocabulary words. "Upcycling" was the conversion of waste materials into new objects. "Repurposing" was the use of an item for a purpose not originally intended. Of course, "recycling" was the breaking down of old objects into items of lesser quality or discrete items. Skye was fascinated by all three activities.
"It's about giving things a second chance rather than consign them to a landfill," she explained.
"How'd you get into this?"
"Being broke. When you don't have a lot of money, you learn to make do," she said.
"You're a terrific waitress," I said, "but your skills are wasted on that job with the sort of artistic talent you have."
She shrugged. "I suppose I should sell stuff, but I haven't tried to yet. Maybe I'm scared of rejection."
"My family owned a restaurant. I still do, sort of. That and a catering business. I'm selling both on contract to a couple of our employees. My dad would try new recipes all the time. While he hated the rejection of a bad idea, he loved the feedback when he hit on a good one."
"I think I'd be okay if I had a partner, like your employees had with you. But since I'd be in it all by myself, if people didn't like what I did, I'm not sure I could take it. It would eat away at my confidence."
"It's a shame Essie isn't still alive. I'm sure she'd have been happy to sell your merchandise."
"Have you thought about what you're going to do with the building? Last night I thought you told your grandfather you hoped to keep him in business." She blushed and added, "Sorry to have eavesdropped."
"How could you have helped overhearing? Yeah, well, you saw how Poppy reacted. So much for gratitude. I'll probably just sell The Treasure Chest. Maybe fix it up a little and try to flip it. I might even see if I can back out of the deal. Pay a penalty and move on. I'll find a good lawyer and hear what my options are, but dumping it seems the best way to go."
I had also flirted with the idea of keeping the building and starting a business myself. But that wasn't anything I was ready to share.
"Boy, oh, boy. I wouldn't get rid of it if I were you." Her eyes turned huge with concern. "Have you thought this through? Selling is out of the question. Especially right now."
"Why?" Her tone annoyed me. I'd been in business all of my life. Who was she to suggest I was making a wrong move?
"Look. I know you didn't kill Hal Humberger. But this is a small town. People will want this wrapped up quickly. Police Chief Reiss will be under a lot of pressure. So will Lou."
"So?" I didn't care about what the people in Stuart thought. Nor was I particularly concerned about Detective Murray's boss. I was more worried about getting my life back and saying goodbye to Stuart.
"As your story stands, you don't have a motive. According to your statement, you tricked—" and Skye let go of the steering wheel long enough to make quotation marks with her fingers"—Hal Humberger into selling you that property. So you got the best of him. If you sell The Treasure Chest, it might look like you were the one who was tricked. People might say that you killed him after your grandfather explained to you that you were snookered."
The logic behind her statement was a shock, and I gasped.
"Remember, there are witnesses who heard your grandfather shouting that you'd made a mistake. Lots of people were there at Pumpernickel's," she added.
I stared out the window. As much as I hated to admit it, Skye had a point. A good one. Dad used to say, "Perception is reality." If people thought I'd been tricked, they could easily cast me as Hal Humberger's killer.
"What are you suggesting that I do?"
"Stick around. At least until the murder is solved. Act eager to take possession. That'll show you don't feel guilty about his death. Remember, this is Stuart. A small town. People will talk. Use it to your advantage."
She was right.
"The way your mind works is scary," I said.
"Just be glad I'm o
n your side."
18
Lou wasn't sure whether Ms. Delgatto had changed her clothes or not. She was wearing a white V-neck tee and jeans, the same as she'd worn the night before.
On the other hand, he totally approved of Skye's gauzy skirt, sweater, and boots. A very Stevie Nicks sort of outfit. Outfit? Was that what women called their clothes? He wasn't sure and he certainly couldn't compliment her under the circumstances. When Skye walked past him and down the hallway, the fresh scent of vanilla drifted after her. Without realizing it, a grin broke out on his face. Skye had that effect on him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lou noticed that Ms. Delgatto had noticed his reaction to Skye.
Showalter whispered, "You're acting like a love-sick schoolboy, pal. Cut it out."
Once he got Skye and Detective Ollie Anderson situated in the first interview room, Lou escorted Ms. Delgatto into a second room and closed the door. A night's sleep had done Ms. Delgatto a world of good, but her newly rested personage proved much less cooperative than she'd been last night. After rereading her statement, she said, "That's all I have to say without benefit of counsel."
A smart move. Not helpful, but smart. He couldn't really blame her, although it would make his job more difficult.
"But your statement says that you tricked Hal Humberger?" Detective Murray raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sometimes if you continued to ask questions, the interviewee would cave and respond.
"I want to talk to a lawyer."
"Any idea who was the real intended buyer for the property?"
"I want to talk to a lawyer."
Lou knew the answer to his question. Ollie had visited the Humberger home last night to inform Philomena Humberger that her husband was dead. She'd sobbed a lot, talked a little, and explained that Cooper Rivers was the intended purchaser. Whether Mr. Rivers and Ms. Delgatto knew each other was an area Lou intended to explore.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 71
