“Danielle? Yoohoo! Hello? It’s Cara.” The walk curved toward the back of the house. A lanai jutted out into the yard. Although screens obscured most of the view inside, I spotted an overhead fan turning in lazy circles.
Surely Danielle was at home. Otherwise, why leave the fan on?
I listened intently. I heard a buzz. The hum of wings. I batted away one fly. Two. Three or four more. All coming from the house.
The breeze shifted. The smell changed.
I knew what I was sniffing. Sickening, sweet, cloying, and rotten. It was a smell you never forget. As fast as possible, I hurried back around the house. I threw open the door to my car, jumped inside, and locked the doors. I hit nine-one-one and waited for the call to connect.
“I’m at 1731 Maiden Lane, Port Saint Lucie. Send help.”
“Miss? Are you okay?”
“Y-y-yes. But someone needs help.”
“Help?”
“I think she’s dead.”
30
The operator asked me to stay on the phone, but I hung up on her and called Lou. He answered on the first ring. “Need another ride? Running away from another bad date?”
“S-s-she’s dead.”
“Who is? Can’t be Skye. Can’t be MJ. Or Honora. I just walked outta your store. In fact, I’m parked here out front and—” He hesitated a half a tick. “Is it your sister? You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?”
“No way! It’s Danielle Cronin from Vintage Threads.”
“Slow down, partner. Exactly where are you?”
“Port Saint Lucie.”
“Port Saint Lucie? What are you doing up there?”
I could hear him shaking his head. I could imagine him thinking all this through.
“Are you safe?” he asked.
“Y-y-yes. I’m sitting in my car in her driveway in broad daylight with the doors locked.”
“Have you dialed nine-one-one?”
“Yes, and they’re sending someone.”
“Where did you find her body?”
“I didn’t. Not exactly. I knocked on the door. She didn’t come. We had an agreement for me to drop off money. I went around the house and smelled it. Her. Whatever.”
“But you didn’t go inside, did you?”
“No.”
“So you don’t know for sure that she’s dead?”
“There are a lot of flies. Zillions of them.” I covered my mouth and tried not to heave. When the urge passed, I said, “Lou, it smells like when you found that dead woman. Remember? I’m sure something awful has happened to Danielle. She didn’t answer her phone or her door and her car is still here. The fan in her lanai is turning. Why would she leave the house and not turn it off?”
“Gotcha. Sit tight. Keep your doors locked. I’m gonna call a pal over in PSL. I’ll call you right back.”
It occurred to me that I could go and knock on a neighbor’s door, but why? Danielle had to be dead. Why get another person involved? And what if a neighbor was the killer?
“No, no, no.” I buried my face in my hands. “This cannot be happening to me.”
But it was.
I turned on the ignition, turned up the A/C, and cranked up the radio full blast. At least until the authorities arrived, I could pretend my life was normal. I could enjoy the cool air and the tunes.
Lou called me right back. “My buddy at PSL will meet you at the house. Ron Cisco. I told him you’re good people, except—”
“Except?”
“You’re better at finding corpses than a trained cadaver dog, Cara. I swear, you need a new hobby.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, but I was talking to my steering wheel.
Ron Cisco was balding with a receding chin, but despite his lack of good looks, he obviously knew his business. He came roaring up, lights and sirens blazing, and arrived in advance of an ambulance and two more squad cars.
I cranked down my window to greet him and held out my driver’s license.
“Stay put. Do not leave your vehicle.” He trotted to the front door. Knocked and called. Trotted around to the gate and repeated the process. Then he followed my route around the house and disappeared.
In short order, Danielle’s yard swarmed with people in uniforms. Lights bounced off the stucco finish of her home. The air came alive with the crackle of walkie-talkies. The activity level cranked up its volume. Cisco seemed to be the focal point, directing their activity.
I closed my eyes and tried to find my happy place. That didn’t work, but I was able to calm myself.
But I sat up with a jolt when Danielle’s front door swung wide open, and Cisco barked orders to a pair of arriving medics. Two men in blue EMT uniforms ran around to the back of the ambulance and unloaded a metal bier on rollers. Resting on top was a long black bag with a zipper closure. The sight of it churned my stomach. Cisco also gestured to a uniformed police woman who was carrying a camera. She followed him inside. A crime scene van rolled up and parked in front of the neighbor’s house.
I closed my eyes again and wished I was anywhere but here.
“Miss Delgatto?” Ron Cisco rapped on my window, encouraging me to roll it down. “I need you to come with me to the police station. Please move your car out of the driveway. Park it next to the curb. We’ll leave it here temporarily.”
I did as told and locked up Black Beauty. With my purse under one arm, I climbed in the back of Ron Cisco’s police cruiser and settled in for a ride to the police station.
Unfortunately, I know the drill. Too well, actually. Once there, Detective Cisco offered me a cup of coffee, brought me a bottle of water, and asked the preliminary questions to establish my identity and my details. I gave him permission to record my statement.
“In a nutshell, how did you wind up at Danielle Cronin’s house?” he asked, staring down at a photocopy of my driver’s license. “You live in Hobe Sound, is that right?”
“Jupiter Island. Hobe Sound is the mailing address. I stopped by Danielle’s house because I owed her money. For a dress.”
“That’s it, that’s all? It couldn’t have waited? The banks close at noon.”
I sipped the water and reviewed the situation. “I had given her my word that I’d bring her the money before eleven. She was planning to work on her books.”
“Did anyone else know she was planning to handle money this morning?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ms. Cronin owns a dress shop? In Stuart?”
“Yes. She specializes in second-hand clothes. Vintage garments. She knows what I like so she keeps an eye out for vintage Lilly Pulitzer items. That’s how she found a dress for me. I always keep my word, and I promised Danielle I’d get her a check for the dress so she could balance her books,” and I hesitated before continuing, “but I had another reason for driving up here.”
That put him on high alert. I could see his body coiling for action.
“Nothing sinister. It’s just that the previous owner of the dress must have left an earring in the pocket. See? I put it in a pill bottle.” I reached in my purse and withdrew an amber plastic cylinder. “Danielle or I needed to return the earring. To the previous owner, that is. A woman named Binky Rutherford. I’ve already made one visit to Binky’s house, so I figured that this time, I would turn the problem over to Danielle. See? Here’s the earring. I’ve been carrying it around in the pocket of my skirt. This piece of jewelry is—was—Danielle’s responsibility, after all. She’s the one who took the dress in on consignment. I paid for the dress, and they always say possession is nine-tenths of the law, but…”
“But that earring doesn’t belong to you,” said Cisco. “So you’re returning it?”
“Right, and I’d promised Danielle I’d drop by with the money, so I figured I’d bring by Binky Rutherford’s earring at the same time. Kill two birds with…” and I stopped because the analogy was so inappropriate and gruesome.
Fortunately Cisco didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s go through t
he timeline once more. I know this is repetitious, but indulge me. I’m still not entirely clear on why you drove up here to Ms. Cronin’s house.”
“I bought the dress on Thursday; it’s a Lilly Pulitzer, and supposedly one of a kind. Danielle sold it to me and told me she was headed out of town. I promised to pay her on Saturday, today. But then Honora—she’s my employee—said that Binky would have never given up that particular dress,” I rattled on, noticing how Detective Cisco was trying to look interested. Really, he was. But clearly he didn’t care about my dress. Given the gravity of the situation, I didn’t either.
“Back to Ms. Cronin,” he finally said. “You knew for sure she was home?”
“Uh-huh. Wait. No, I didn’t know for sure. See, Danielle had told me she was coming back from her trip Friday night, last night. I didn’t want to drive here for no good reason, so I ran next door—”
“Next door?”
“Danielle’s shop Vintage Threads is right next to mine in Stuart.”
“Ah.”
“Claudia, the girl who works for Danielle, said she’d spoken to her boss first thing this morning, so she knew Danielle was at home, but she—Claudia, that is—hadn’t gotten a hold of her since. I’d made a promise, and when it comes to money, your word is your bond, and there was that earring, and I needed a break from the store…” I realized I was rambling and shut up.
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for a dress and an earring.” Cisco shook his head and stared at his notes.
“Believe me, it has been. A major league pain in the backside. For me. Is she…dead? Danielle?”
“I can’t answer that for sure. We did find a deceased person on the premises.”
“Do you need me to—”
“No. We found her purse with her driver’s license. It’s definitely Danielle Cronin.”
31
“I counted,” I told Skye when I returned to the store around four thirty. “I now know more cops on the Treasure Coast than real people. Scratch that. More cops than robbers. Uh, no. More cops than—”
“Lemon drop martini. Drink it.” MJ shoved my way a tall glass with a sugared rim and a slice of lemon dangling precariously from it. “I told Honora what happened. Gee whiz, Cara, you sure know how to have a bad day.”
To Skye’s curious look, MJ added, “My lemon tree went absolutely nuts this last summer. I froze as many as I could. I’m pouring one for you, too. I think we all need about a pint of vodka to get over this.”
“What if a customer comes in?” I wondered as I slurped the drink.
“We have enough to share,” said MJ. “Or we can let Honora deal with the sales floor. She’s out there right now, finishing up an order for a room box.”
“I’ll stick with the plain lemonade, please. Another day, another dead body. Cheers,” and Skye raised her glass.
“I have become a human bloodhound.” I licked the rim of the glass. “Seriously. Forget dresses. I need to shop for a collar and leash.”
“Jason would love you in one with studs. Nathan’s more the military camouflage type, don’t you think? And Mr. Boehner?”
Skye frowned. “Jay? He’d like you in a prim white schoolgirl collar, I bet.”
MJ poured a second helping for all of us, giving Skye more plain old lemonade. “Bottoms up.”
I groaned. “Not only am I a bloodhound in need of a collar, but I’m hanging out with a couple of perverts and drinking hard liquor. What a wonderful role model I am.”
“Did you make one for me?” Honora pulled up a chair. “Cara, dear, you poor child. At least you found Danielle before she…lingered too long.”
“Do you imbibe, Honora?” asked MJ. “This is not for the faint of heart.”
“Laws, child. I not only imbibe, my generation practically invented alcoholism. Especially for stay-at-home mothers. What else did women have to do besides tie one on? My, my, but this is tasty. Good thing I don’t have to drive myself home. So what do you intend to do about that earring, Cara?”
Putting my feet up on the chair across from me, I said, “Nothing. I don’t give a rat’s fat behind about Binky Rutherford. I am so done with her and that stupid dress, too.”
“Do you still plan to return her earring?” asked Honora, as though I hadn’t made my position perfectly clear.
“You think I should make another trip to Binky’s house? Is that your point? That would make two home visits, one stop at Vintage Threads, and one stop at Danielle’s House of Horrors. All for a stupid, idiotic dress that’s older than I am.”
“Oh, dear. I’ve upset you,” said Honora.
“Yes, you have. Fortunately, these martinis are kicking in. I’m seeing the world in a light yellow haze that’s very appealing.”
“I guess this isn’t the time to worry about a silly earring, is it, Cara dear? Especially considering what you found at Danielle’s house. How about this. I’ll call Binky’s daughter BJ and see if she knows what’s happening with her mother. At our age, a urinary tract infection can cause confusion. Perhaps Binky needs to see her doctor. You never know.”
Not my problem. If Honora would just promise to shut up, I would agree to bundle up the earring and mail it to Binky along with a package of adult diapers. To misquote Rhett Butler, I didn’t give a hang what Binky’s problem was.
The rest of us watched while Honora punched buttons on her Jitterbug.
“Binky’s daughter is Bianca, too, so they call her BJ. It’s short for Bianca Junior.” Honora took another big slurp of her cocktail as she waited for BJ to answer. I’d expected Honora to wilt under the powerful drink in her martini glass, but she hadn’t. In fact, she acted as though she’d been fortified. For an old lady, she could sure hold her liquor.
“BJ? Hello. Honora MacAfee here. Yes, Honora from down in Florida. BJ, dear, I was wondering when the last time was that you talked to your mother? Oh. Right. Evans is there with her? He’s out for Spring Break already? From University of Miami? Yes, I see. Has anything been bothering your mother lately? Right. I see. Nothing at all. She’s fine, you say. In that case, I’ll let you go. Nice to talk—”
But the frown on Honora’s face suggested BJ had hung up on her.
The back door flew open and in stomped Poppy. “I got me a message from Zelda.”
“Zelda?” The lemon drop martini had turned my limbs to overcooked spaghetti and my brain to mush.
“That there nurse at the hospital. She says if we hurry we can talk to your mermaid.”
I jumped up. “She’s awake? And talking?’
“Yup. There’s a policeman outside of her door, but Zelda says he’s taking an awful lot of bathroom breaks. She figures we can slip into that there immigrant’s room while his back is turned. That’s all you want, right? Just to see her and know she’s okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been worried. I keep wondering if I did the right thing by resuscitating her.”
Poppy put a hand on my shoulder. “Granddaughter, you did everything you could for her. I’m sure she’ll be happy to thank you herself. Now if you want to go visit her, we better hurry.”
“Binky Rutherford used to be sharp as a brand-new fishhook. Now she’s old and forgetful, just like me,” said Poppy, as he turned over the engine of his truck. “Worthless, the both of us. She used to bring her old station wagon to me before she traded it in for a newer car. We’ve been friends, oh, for thirty odd years. Until recently, she could take care of herself. But we’re all getting on in age. Maybe I oughta go by and check up on her. No need for you to stick your nose into her business.”
The alcohol made me muzzy headed. What if Poppy was acting confused? Wouldn’t I want to know about it? What if Honora was right and her friend was in real trouble?
Poppy gave me a sidewise glance. “Care to tell me why you’re getting schnockered in the middle of the day?”
I told him what I’d found at Danielle’s house.
“And you figured right away that she was dead? Didn’t go into th
e house, did you? Good. No need to disturb a crime scene. Woulda been something else entirely if you thought she might be incapacitated. But you were sure she was dead?”
“I smelled her. She couldn’t have been dead long, but you know how it is. There was that stink. Also, there were tons and tons of flies.”
“Doing their job. They’re part of the dust-to-dust truth of our existence.”
“Uh-huh.” I stared out the window. How could we be having such a beautiful day when Danielle was dead? The birds carried on like always, squawking at a dark silhouette overhead as it soared past. The grass was still growing. My grandfather was sitting by my side. All in all, my life was terrific.
Except I’d internalized guilt the way a sponge drinks up water. Why was Danielle dead? Why was I alive? What had happened to her? Would she still be alive if I’d arrived a little sooner?
“That’s a shame.” Poppy shook his head. “I remember seeing her pop in and out of your store. Awful young to die. Them cops didn’t have any ideas what happened?”
“No. At least none they were sharing with me. I didn’t know her well enough to even speculate, other than to wonder if it was a robbery gone wrong. She had told me she’d be at home working on her books. I assume that meant she had cash and checks at the house, although maybe not. Perhaps she went to the bank and a creep followed her home. Except…” and I paused. “There weren’t any signs of forced entry. That doesn’t sound like a robber, does it?”
“Nope. Of course you didn’t check her windows, did ya?”
“No. Why?”
“You’d be amazed at how many crimes are opportunistic. Most bad guys don’t think a lot in advance. They act on the spur of the moment, that’s all. That’s how come you gotta be vigilant. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way. What you really need, Granddaughter, is a bigger dog.”
“Are we back to that?”
“Yup. A dog is a whale of a deterrent. They’re unpredictable. Pretend you’re a creep. You see a window open. You watch. There’s only a woman living there. You decide to take advantage, but then you hear a deep bark and see a dog. A big dog. One that could go for your throat. What would you do next?”
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 137
