He gave a gentle smile. “Thank you, April. Maybe you should take the rest of day off.”
Her smile was bitter. “Ironically, that’s the same thing I told Joe. Wish he had taken my advice.”
Clay purchased a dozen roses from the Sparkling Roses Florist Shop and asked they be delivered to April Longmont who was at the Sea Oak Daily News. The eager young man behind the counter was happy to comply.
“Delivery this afternoon, sir?”
“If possible. I think she’ll be in the office . . .” He lifted his arm and checked his watch. “In about fifteen minutes. And she should be there until about five.”
“We will deliver the flowers to her. Would you like to write a note?”
“Yes.”
The employee handed him a pink note bearing the words "Merry Christmas." Clay grabbed a pen and wrote, "A courting we will go." He handed it back to the employee.
“And I would also like to arrange another batch of flowers to be delivered tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, sir. More roses?”
“Yes, but since this batch were red let’s do yellow and white roses tomorrow.”
“Another dozen?”
“Yes.”
“We can do that. Want delivery in the afternoon again?”
“That will be fine. I can court with the best of them.”
The employee gave him an odd look but Clay just smiled and gave him a ten-dollar bill.
“For your good work,” Clay said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas.”
As he left the office, his phone buzzed. He was surprised when he saw the number was April’s. He put the phone to his ear.
“Brown is the color of my true love’s hair, in the morning . . .”
For a moment there was no reply.
“You stunned me, honey, and I’m rarely at a lost for words,” April said.
“During courting I hope to take your breath away any number of times.”
“That’s sweet. I hate to interrupt this romantic moment, and I especially hate to interrupt it at Christmastime, but we need to open the Longmont-Augustine Detective Agency again.”
“During the holiday season?”
“Unfortunately, yes. In this season, Death did not take a holiday.”
“What happened?”
“Somebody killed Joe Dinera. Blow to the head. I found the body.”
“Oh, no.”
“He was clubbed either in the alley and dragged into the back of the sports store or there was someone already in the store who hit him after he entered from the exit door,” April said.
“Joe? Who would kill him?”
“Actually, there are more suspects than you might think. We need to get together this afternoon. Can you drop by the office?”
“Sure. What time.”
“Let’s make it about three. We need to get together a plan of action. It’s worked for us in the past. But I must admit this is a downer. The last thing I wanted to do at Christmas is catch a killer. Doesn’t seem to fit into the holiday spirit, does it?”
“Yes, Christmas is not really merry with a murderer roaming around. We’ll have to make Christmas jolly again!” Clay said.
“That’s a good way of looking at it. See you at three.”
Make Christmas jolly again, thought April. That is a good way of looking at it.
3
The Sea Oak Daily News had its own website where breaking news was posted. When Sid Averiman, president and CEO of Blue Sands, checked the newspaper website, he gulped, almost swallowed his tongue, and dropped his drink in his lap. For a few minutes he ignored the cold liquor on his pants as he stared at his computer screen. Averiman was a good businessman, but he also knew a great deal about public and media relations. It always helped to get the media on your side. He had grown up in a small Florida town, so he was aware of the antipathy generated when large developments threatened to turn small towns into medium-size towns. He and his advance team had done their best to wow citizens who came out to the Blue Sands informational meetings they held, to win the support of Sheffield County residents—with some success.
Adam Lundmark was his public relations executive; a young, gregarious, dark-haired, slim man, who loved to talk. He was a people person and was at his best in dealing with the public. He talked about how the Blue Sands development would bring ample taxes into the county’s coffers. In addition to the hotel and condos Blue Sands would build, the company would open up some of its beach land to the public, providing an extra beach for county residents. Lundmark also emphasized Blue Sands believed in being a good corporate neighbor and would contribute heavily to local charity projects, food drives, and other projects, beneficial to the community. It would also sponsor Little League teams, and support the local school systems. Lundmark had been persuasive, and many of the Sheffield County residents who listened to him were won over.
His lobbyist was J. B. Winslow, and J.B. could talk almost as well as Lundmark, but he could also twist some arms and elbow some opponents if needed. Winslow had dealt with the county planning department and was known to have said, “I’m a pest, and I’m obnoxious, but I get things done.”
All in all, Averiman was pleased with both men. And, although a yes vote on the project was not guaranteed, he was cautiously optimistic that the Sheffield County Commission would grant approval of the project. After all, the development was on the beach. It was not cutting into any of the agricultural or farmland in the county. Part of the development would be land designated for a public beach. He was not a rapacious developer, destroying the land, and leaving only garbage behind.
He walked to the bar in the room and refilled his drink. He swallowed some of the whisky before saying anything. Then he bit his tongue. Silence is sometimes better than loud words.
But this could destroy everything, he thought. The optics were terrible. What would people think? A huge corporation wants to build a development in the county. There is anger and fierce opposition to the project. When the project is set to go before the county commission, the assistant planning director of the county is murdered. No optics could be worse than that.
His company, he thought, had nothing to do with the man’s death. Although, for one tiny glimmer of a moment he wondered where J.B. was when the man was killed. Then he shook his head and shook the thought out. J.B. could be a bit rough verbally but not physically. Well . . . he didn’t think so.
He picked up the phone and called Lundmark, and recognized the bright, vivacious voice when the call was answered.
“Adam, have you heard the news about the planning guy?”
“Yes, sir. I just checked the newspaper website. That’s a shock.”
“We need a release immediately saying we deeply regret his death and saying we enjoyed working with . . . what was his name?”
“Joe Dinera, sir.”
“That we enjoyed working with Mr. Dinera, and our associates got along very well with him, and are shocked by his death. We’ll say he was a very competent planner and helped us on numerous occasions in modifying our proposal to make it more acceptable to the public in Sheffield County—and add a little boilerplate after that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need to get it out this afternoon.”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“What was our last interaction with Dinera? Anything important?”
“No, sir. One of our people was just going over some routine details with him. Whit Newcome, one of our engineers, talked to him last. They liked one another, but Dinera did say he was going to oppose the development.”
“What?”
“He told Newcome, although he thought our development was a high-quality and first-class project, he felt it didn’t belong on a Sheffield County beach, and if the planning director didn’t recommend rejection of it, he would.”
Averiman thought for a moment. “Interesting to know, but in my experience county commissioners ask the pl
anning director for his recommendation, not the assistant planner. No one cares what an assistant thinks. After Rockingham gave his recommendation, nobody was going to call on his assistant.”
“Dinera said he would request the commission hear him out. If he made that request at a public meeting it would be difficult for the commissioner to shut him down, even if they wanted to.”
“That’s like a virus in the computer,” Averiman said. “Did Mr. Newcome tell many people this?”
“Yes, sir. It was a piece of news he’d thought we would want to know. I’m guessing he told three or four people.”
“And those three or four people no doubt told other people.”
“Yes, sir. Probably.”
Averiman frowned. That meant that perhaps a dozen or more Blue Sands employees knew about Dinera’s threat. None of them would go rogue, would they?
“If Rockingham recommended a yes vote on the project, but his assistant stood up and recommended a no . . .”
“Yes, sir. It would have made approval a bit more difficult.”
Averiman drank more of his liquor. “But we no longer have to worry about Mr. Dinera, do we?”
“No, sir. We don’t.”
Then Averiman realized he was wrong. They did have to worry about Mr. Dinera. Even if he was dead, the repercussions caused by his death could not be stopped.
Averiman also realized that, although he had moral objections to murder, he’d be tempted to shoot Dinera’s killer. The guy was going to cause him a lot of trouble.
“And Merry Christmas to all,” he said aloud.
April smiled as she stared at the dozen red roses in the green vase on her desk. It was so sweet of Clay to send them. Roses were her favorite flower. She had known one lady who had received twelve-dozen roses one time. Twelve carriers brought them to her office and surrounded her desk with them. Her friend was not overwhelmed. She thought the gesture was too grandiose. April agreed. Twelve-dozen roses in different colors was going over the top. But a dozen roses were romantic.
Her smile became even brighter when she saw Clay walk into the newsroom. She waved, got up from her desk and hugged him. She pointed to the flowers.
“Thank you! Such a wonderful present.”
“Does this pass the romantic test?”
“Yes, it certainly does. Keep it up. But right now sit down. We need to discuss the Dinera case.”
A wooden chair stood at the side of April’s desk. Clay sat down in it as April sat behind the desk. She had a pen in her hand and tapped it on the desk calendar.
“Clay, Joe told me if his boss recommended approval of the Blue Sands project, he was going to tell the commission he opposed it. That would have caused a political ripple and might have gotten the project voted down. The sight of an assistant planner breaking with his boss, and department, and going public before the county commission . . . the commission hasn’t seen that before.”
Clay nodded. “Yes, such a dramatic move could have influenced the vote. If any commissioner was on the fence—and I hear one or two are—Joe’s action could have pushed them into casting a no vote. We need to find out if Joe told anyone else of his plans.”
“And find out if one of those people wanted to stop him,” April said.
“Yes, but we can’t rule out other possibilities. This is a high-profile matter. But Joe could have been murdered for other reasons that have nothing to do with Blue Sands. Was he messing with a lady who already had a boyfriend, a jealous boyfriend, or a wife who had an angry husband, or something else? We need to talk to people on the planning staff, and also question his friends.”
April nodded. “We’ll leave all options open. But I can’t see Joe messing with another man’s wife. He wasn’t married, and I’m not sure he was going with anyone. The entire department has been focused on the Blue Sands development for months.”
“We need to talk to the Blue Sands people too,” Clay said. “Let’s be honest. If Joe planned to recommend the county vote no on their proposal—and their proposal is worth fifty million, give or take one or two million—then the company, or someone in the company, has a motive. But sometimes the obvious suspect isn’t the correct suspect. If the Blue Sands people know what Joe intended to do then suspicion falls on them, and a company with a project coming up for a vote doesn’t want any suspicion on them.”
April gritted her teeth. “Hate to admit it, but you’re right. If they want the commission to OK their project, killing a planner is probably a bad move.”
“If any county commissioner votes with them now, he or she is under suspicion too. That would make a commissioner think twice about building condos on the beach,” Clay said. “Besides, I’ve already done a bit of checking on Blue Sands. It has a solid reputation for quality work. If you go down to South Florida, some of those condos, and more than one of the shopping centers, got built on the cheap and a few building regulations got undercut in the process. Some companies, frankly, are known for shoddy work.”
“The company that built the kitchen in my apartment is one of them,” April said. “The faucet leaks all the time. I’ve gotta tell the landlord about it. And I’m not going to start on my usual rant about the stove.”
“Precisely. But Blue Sands isn’t known for sub-quality work. Plus they’ve never been under any type of investigation. The board of directors has a reputation for ethical decisions, not just profit-making ones. It may be a cliché, but the company does try to be a good corporate citizen. Blue Sands has built projects like this before without murdering anyone. I don’t know why the company would change its business practices now.” He paused and gave a slight shrug. “What I’m saying is, what Joe told you is important, and possibly a clue, but we can’t assume anything without proof.”
“We wouldn’t do that. We’re pros.”
“Even pros can make a mistake.”
“Let’s make sure we don’t.” April stretched out her hand and touched a rose. “Such a shame we have to do this during Christmas. We should be out shouting joy to the world."
“Maybe we can do that after we solve the case.”
April frowned. “I know I said I want a little romance this season, but with the job, and the Santa gig, and a relative coming in, I don’t think there’s going to be much time for romantic overtures.”
“Then I can focus on that after we solve the case . . . but I’ll still keep sending flowers and being romantic.”
“You’re adorable.” April looked at the desk clock. “Oh shucks, we have a staff meeting in about five minutes.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “That’s all right. I’ll start doing what I do best.”
“Playing golf?”
“No, detecting.”
“Oh, of course.”
“You’re incredibly cute and have a great sense of sarcasm. The two must go together.”
“They do.”
He stood up and waved. “Talk to you later. I’m off to see the Blue Sands people, with one detour.”
He walked away before April could ask about the detour. She grabbed her notebook, and with several other reporters, headed toward the paper’s conference room.
4
Manatee, in a snug, bright-green winter jacket, whistled softly as he strolled down the beach. The wind tangled his hair. There were a few premature gray strands mixed in with the black. His hands were fit firmly in black gloves. He waved at two other beach walkers, a man and a woman who shouted, "Merry Christmas" as they passed by. The waves flowed gently onto the beach. Whitecaps moved swiftly across the top of the water. An early morning rain had condensed the sand. No flurries were picked up by the wind to batter beach walkers. Even with the cold, Manatee thought it might be a good fishing day. He enjoyed fishing. It was not only a habit; it was a very practical hobby. He enjoyed golf, but fishing provided lunch and dinner if the fisherman had some good fortune and hungry fish. Fish tasted better when they were taken directly from a stream or the ocean. He had many talents and cooking fish
was one of them. He could easily filet them properly. Being a former army sergeant he had used knives a number of times in lethal ways, but he preferred using a knife to filet fish. With a special batter he had created, his fish could pass muster in the finest restaurants in the city. As he strolled back to his “shack” on the beach he saw a friend near his back door. He waved as flakes of snow began falling.
“You’re out in the cold, Clay,” Manatee said.
“So are you.”
Manatee laughed. “This isn’t cold. I did some time in South Korea in the winter. Now that’s cold. The barracks were not heated all that well either. I’ve spent a little time in Alaska too.”
“Now that would be cold.”
“But it’s a dry cold.”
“Did you realize that you may have a condominium close to you in the near future?” Clay pointed north.
“That’s one reason I’ve never believed in progress. We have a beautiful, scenic beach and somebody wants to put a big, tall, ugly building right in the middle of it. I don’t think that’s an improvement.”
“But you’re not on the local planning commission.”
“A great loss for the city.” Manatee smiled. “But if I were on the commission, what some people call progress would be brought to a halt. I would veto all new buildings, condos, shopping malls, and all so-called improvements except baseball fields.”
“Manatee, you are a man of the past.”
“If condos and ugliness are the present and future then, yes, I am a man of the past. Come on in.”
Manatee opened the door and the two walked inside. Manatee’s “shack” was actually a fair-sized house. The living room had a fireplace blazing, but that was not the only warmth. The house also had central air and heat. The kitchen had coffee percolating. A Christmas tree that almost reached the roof of the house was next to a lounge chair.
“Celebrating the season, Manatee?” Clay said.
“I do. Every year. Frankly I’m not religious, but a holiday that reminds you to be thankful and suggests giving to others is very nice. Even grouchy people seem to be in a good mood at Christmas. Like some coffee?”
A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set Page 30
