The Boathouse (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 14)

by Vickie McKeehan

  Rossi didn’t budge. “Could I see some ID proving you are who you say you are?”

  Tucker pulled out his passport and his California driver’s license. “Satisfied? Are you certain it was my dad? Maybe there’s been a mix-up. Apartment three-ten.”

  “Apartment three-ten is now a crime scene. Your father answered the door in his underwear and was gunned down just inside the entryway. He wasn’t alone. He had a woman with him. She was also shot and killed…in the bedroom.”

  “A woman? With my dad?” Tucker paced off a few steps and then back again. “Maybe that’s why he was too busy to answer the phone on Sunday when I called. He was boinking some neighbor woman.”

  Rossi tightened his jaw. He let out a sigh that filled the entire lobby area. “We think the woman was a call girl, an escort from one of the local establishments known to service retirees. She was young, maybe thirty, long blond hair, brown eyes, a few tattoos. Sound like anyone you might know?”

  “Jeez. Of course, I don’t know her. I haven’t been here since my mom died. Unbelievable. He died with a hooker. Could this get any worse?”

  “Why are you here? To me, it didn’t look like your father was expecting anyone this evening, let alone his son.”

  Tucker paced a few feet away before coming back again. “I was here to ask him why he lied about my sister’s death twenty-seven years ago. My parents told me she drowned. I was seven at the time. I found out yesterday they lied. My sister was murdered. I got hold of the death certificate. Five-years-old and strangled right outside our house. So I was pissed off. Okay? I came down here to confront him about it.”

  “How pissed off were you? On second thought, don’t answer that. Let’s talk at the station. I’ve already walked the crime scene upstairs. I don’t need to be here, and neither do you when they take out the bodies.”

  “Bodies,” Tucker muttered as he picked up his bag and let himself get walked out the door to a waiting squad car.

  At the station, Rossi put him in an interview room that seemed claustrophobic. It was that small. The detective provided him with a Styrofoam cup filled with stale, burnt coffee that made the airplane coffee taste like a rich Costa Rican blend.

  “Sorry about the taste. I didn’t think you wanted to wait for me to brew a fresh pot.”

  “It’s okay. What the hell happened, do you think? I mean, I don’t think I knew my father at all. At. All. What was going on with him?”

  “I was kind of hoping you could tell me that. Why don’t you start with this sister of yours who got murdered.”

  “It’s still unsolved. But up until yesterday, I believed the story they’d told me—that she’d been the victim of a drowning, an accident. Teresa Ferguson. Five. Pelican Pointe, California. Just yesterday I ordered copies of her death certificate.” Tucker rambled on for another twenty minutes, dishing out details about whatever popped into his head. “And that’s when Brent Cody, the Chief of Police, suggested that maybe I should confront my dad about the stuff he told me when I was a kid.”

  Rossi, arms crossed over his chest, sat there listening, patient as a saint. When Tucker finally stopped talking, the detective cleared his throat. “What I’m hearing is that your father was kind of an asshole. He had a history in this little town. People generally did not care much for him. Is that a reasonable statement?”

  “Well. Yeah. But I didn’t want him dead. Nobody did. He certainly didn’t deserve to be gunned down in his own home. No matter how bad he treated people, he was still my dad.”

  “Somebody wanted him dead. And they went to extreme measures to make it happen. What would you say if I told you that your father had a twenty-gauge shotgun propped up right next to his front door?”

  Tucker frowned. “Why would he do that? I didn’t even know he owned a shotgun.”

  “He didn’t hunt?”

  “Hunt? He barely did anything for recreation, for fun. Besides, the neighborhood around the condo looks perfectly safe to me. That’s what my mother thought after she moved in there. The first time I saw it, I wasn’t too impressed with the building or the location, but I did check crime statistics around the area after they arrived. It seemed relatively free of serious crime.”

  “It is. But your dad left the shotgun out where he could get to it in a hurry. No one props up a gun like that by the door unless he’s expecting trouble. Trouble found him, Mr. Ferguson. In a big way. Think back. When was the last time you were here in town, the last time you were inside your father’s condo?”

  Tucker scratched his chin. “That would be the last week of March. That’s when I came here for my mom’s funeral.”

  “And you’re sure of that?”

  “Yes. I’m sure when we buried my mother,” Tucker snapped. Then it dawned on him why Rossi wanted to know. “My fingerprints might still be somewhere inside. But I kind of doubt it.”

  “Okay. Process of elimination. Anything else out of the ordinary happen back home recently in this Pelican Pointe place you call home?”

  Tucker told Rossi about the discovery of the bodies in the concrete.

  That tidbit had the cop straightening his back. “You’re telling me that after thirty-five years, somebody knocked down a piling—and these bodies that hadn’t been visible before and that no one knew about—suddenly becomes the talk of the town yesterday morning?”

  “Yeah. If you don’t believe me, ask Brent Cody.”

  “Oh, I intend to. You’ll have to check into a hotel, Mr. Ferguson. You won’t be able to go into your father’s building until I’m satisfied we’ve taken the right amount of photos and gathered the right amount of evidence. You certainly won’t have access to the condo until the crime scene techs have finished pulling everything out that might yield DNA.”

  “I got that.”

  “Don’t go anywhere else, either. Okay?”

  “You mean, don’t leave town. I got it. Where would I go? I have to make funeral arrangements.”

  “Will you bury him here?”

  “Sure. Next to my mom.” Tucker eased back in the chair for the first time since coming into the room. “Fucking Florida. Who would believe they both died in fucking Florida after living all their lives in Pelican Pointe?”

  Tucker met Rossi’s eyes. “Sorry. But it’s a helluva note to fly across the country, get all worked up about having a serious talk with him about something as serious as murder, only to discover that when I get here he’s dead. Now that conversation will never happen. Now I’ll never know why they lied to me about Tessie’s death.”

  Rossi scrubbed a hand behind his neck. “I know it’s frustrating. But did you ever stop to think that…? Never mind. It’s late. I’ll have one of the officers take you to a hotel.”

  “Thanks. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to walk or something, call myself a Lyft. I just want to get out of here, call my girlfriend back home, and tell her the news. I just want this day to be over.”

  An hour later, the reality still hadn’t sunk in yet.

  Tucker found the nearest hotel closest to the Flamingo Isle building and checked in, a place called Beachside Inn that touted a view of the ocean, even though the beach was nowhere in sight, and a person would end up having to cross a busy highway to get there.

  After unpacking and stretching out on the bed, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since picking up a sandwich before boarding the plane back in Santa Cruz. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  He called Bodie.

  “You’re never going to believe this, but my dad is dead.”

  On the other end, Bodie thought she’d misheard. “What did you just say? I think we may have a bad connection.”

  “No bad connection. You heard right. Someone shot and killed my father earlier this evening in his own house. I didn’t even get to confront him, Bodie. He was already dead when I arrived. This detective wouldn’t even let me get near the apartment. I might be their main suspect.”

  Stunned, Bodie sat in silence until Lago nudg
ed his nose into her crotch. “Stop that.”

  “What?” Tucker asked. “What’s going on there?”

  “Nothing. It’s just Lago settling into a new place and curious. I still can’t believe the news. What happened after you talked to the detective? Does he have any idea what happened?”

  “From the gist of the conversation, I think he believes someone targeted Dad. And get this, he wasn’t alone. He was with a hooker.”

  “Wait. What? The detective was with a hooker?”

  For the first time in hours, Tucker found something to laugh about. “No. Dad had a hooker in the apartment with him.”

  “Get out. Oh my, God. Really? Wait. Are you making this up? Are you trying to punk me?”

  “No. This is real, Bodie. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of it. From having to sit in a police station and listen to a detective talk about dad in the past tense, It feels like I’m living in an alternate universe.”

  “Poor thing. Want me to fly there and be with you?”

  “No. The best thing you can do for me right now is to maintain the status quo back home. Take care of Lago. Make sure my backup guys know what’s happened and that I’ll be away a lot longer than I planned. If Logan and Archer want to bail, make sure Owen and Matty hang with me and don’t quit. I just don’t feel like answering a bunch of questions from them right now. Everybody will be tossing questions at me right and left. Right now, I just don’t want to talk to anyone but you.”

  “Don’t worry, Tucker. I’ll contact them all and let them know what’s happened. Everything will be fine. I’ll see to it. Do you have a timeframe when you think you might be back?”

  “I have no idea. I’ll need to wait until the coroner releases the body. Then I’ll have to deal with the funeral, then go into the apartment and clean out his stuff. God, Bodie. I walked into a nightmare. Maybe worse than when my mom died. At least then, dad was taking care of the details. Now it all falls to me.”

  “Seriously, Tucker. If you need me to come and help out, just say so. I can always get someone to cover for me at the Diner. Margie and Max will understand. And I could find someone to look after Lago.”

  “I want you here, Bodie. I do. But I think it’s best if you make sure things run smoothly there. Will you do that for me?”

  “Sure. I can’t believe you went all that way to ask him about Tessie, and now, you’ll never know the truth.”

  “I know. It’s unreal. I’m numb right now. I wish you were here.”

  “That’s not convincing me to stay put or to make sure things go smoother on my end. You’re sending out conflicting signals.”

  “Sorry. My brain’s scattered.”

  “That’s okay. Get some sleep, Tucker. You’re mentally wiped. Call me tomorrow.”

  “Lago’s okay?”

  “Lago’s fine. He’s curled up around my feet.”

  “That’s what I need, that picture in my head instead of sitting here in a bland hotel room that smells like stinky feet.”

  “There are better hotels.”

  “Yeah, but this one is located right down the street from my dad’s condo. Crappy place, but perfect location.”

  “You are so stubborn. You know that?”

  “So I’ve been told. Goodnight, Bodie. I might call you later if I wake up at two in the morning Eastern time.”

  “That’s fine. It’ll be eleven here. Goodnight, for now, Tucker. Take care of yourself.” With a chunk of reluctance balled in her belly, Bodie ended the call.

  “Our guy seems depressed,” she muttered into the dog’s ear. “The next few days he’ll need us now more than ever.”

  Lago whined like he knew his human was in trouble.

  All Bodie could do was cuddle the dog close and hope Tucker would make it through with his emotions intact.

  Over the next seven days, Tucker checked in with Bodie several times a day, trying to keep her apprised of each step in the process before he could head home.

  Only Tucker and a few neighbors in Joe’s building attended the graveside service. Although Detective Howard Rossi put in an appearance, he kept his distance. But Tucker knew Rossie was there to check out the mourners who showed up.

  After the police released the apartment, Tucker moved in there, not to save money, but to take the time to go through his father’s belongings, sort out what he wanted to keep, toss what needed to go to charity.

  There were file cabinets stuck back in the master bedroom closet full of documents that Tucker had never seen before. Instead of wasting time going through each folder, he pulled them out and packed them into heavy-duty paper boxes, then shipped them all back home to Pelican Pointe to sort through later.

  It had taken four meetings before Tucker and Howard Rossi managed to get on a first-name basis. On the fourth outing, the two men met for lunch inside a fast-food taco place.

  Each time they were together, Howard pressed him to provide more details about his father. “If I’m going to solve your dad’s murder, I need to know everything there is about him.”

  “I’ve told you everything there is. If you don’t believe me, try sitting down face to face with Brent Cody. He can fill in the gaps about anything that happened back home while I was away at college.”

  “You sound like there was a lot of stuff going on then.”

  “Howard, you need to understand just how bitter my father became before he made the move here. He was an intolerable man, a person who thought he ran the town from his little hardware store empire. Then one day, he pissed off the wrong guy, and things started to unravel. The tide shifted. A guy by the name of Nick Harris blew into town, fell in love with a widow, and set up shop at the bank, a bank my dad thought he controlled. Nick took on Joe Ferguson in a way that challenged his authority, questioned the way he treated people, the way he did business. Nick single-handedly almost bankrupted Dad’s precious hardware store by steering folks to the competition in another town. Then another man rolls on the scene just as determined to teach Dad a lesson. Nick and Logan became allies.”

  “Should I be looking at these two guys?”

  “No. No. Right there is the problem. You’re not listening to me. You want me to open up, to talk to you, you want me to provide details, and then you say stuff like that. Nick and Logan don’t give two hangs about revenge. They got what they wanted the most. And that was to show Joe Ferguson that he could no longer bully people just because he owned the only hardware store and lumberyard in town.”

  “Jeez. Is that why your father hid away here in Florida?”

  “I used to think so, yes. But now, it might be something more serious. When Dad dragged Mom away from her friends and the home she’d made over the years, I thought he was running off with his tail between his legs because he’d lost the battle. Now, I don’t know.”

  “Sorry, Tuck, but to me, your dad sounds like one cold son of a bitch.”

  “That’s one way of putting it, yeah. My mother, on the other hand, was a sweetheart. I was disappointed when she let him talk her into moving across the country.”

  “I’m getting a sense of why you decided to confront him about your sister.”

  “I didn’t want to, but I needed to see his face when I asked him about Tessie. After five hours in the air, I was still nervous getting out of that cab. Part of me feels like he was killed because I’d started to ask questions about Tessie. I know that sounds crazy and a little paranoid. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I’m not prepared to do that yet, mainly because your dad was afraid of something or someone. Otherwise, the shotgun would have been put away in the closet where it belonged.”

  “You think he was expecting someone? It couldn’t have been me. He had no idea I was coming.”

  “Are you sure about that? Who knew you were coming here? Who knew you’d started to look into how Tessie died?”

  Tucker’s brows bowed with tension. “You’re saying I could’ve brought this on by stirring up the past, making inquiries in
to Tessie’s death?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Tucker’s brain tried to come up with the list of people who knew he’d learned the truth. “These past few days are a blur. I’ve never been a murder suspect before.”

  “Relax. You’re not. Cody gave me an earful about your dad, enough to understand that the man would likely have enemies going back decades. And so far, everything you’ve told me checks out.”

  “Once I get back home, will you keep me updated on the investigation?”

  “If I can. My lieutenant tends to frown on keeping the family in the loop like that. But if you called, I’d be duty-bound to talk to you and answer whatever questions you might have.”

  Tucker’s mouth curled. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “When will you be heading home?”

  “UPS is picking up the last of the boxes in the morning to ship back to California. I’ll stay one more night after that to meet with the lawyer about the will. And then in the afternoon with the realtor and go over the listing.”

  “Did your father leave everything to you?”

  “According to the lawyer, yes. I’ll have to wait and see what that entails.”

  “You think he’d stick you with a lot of bills?”

  The question caused Tucker to laugh out loud, remembering all the debt he’d paid off within the last six months. “You need to do your homework. When it came to Joe Ferguson, no one was better at passing the buck or blame or fault onto someone else. The man had it down to an art form.”

  “Have you come to terms with the hooker being there?”

  “Not really. It makes me wonder though about all those nights my parents slept in separate bedrooms. How long had he been seeking out the company of other women like that? He used to go out at night sometimes. Maybe he routinely headed over to Santa Cruz or San Sebastian for that purpose.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first husband or father to keep that kind of life a secret.”

  “It makes me look at my entire childhood in a whole new light, though. When I get back and delve into all those boxes, I’ll know what to look for.”

  “Don’t count on it. There’s always a surprise lurking somewhere, a nice Easter egg filled with things you didn’t know, things you don’t want to know.”