Island Storms

by Sherryl Woods

  “God, I’m sorry. I wish like hell I could wrap this up.”

  “Any new leads?”

  “I’ve been running a paper chase on Mendoza all day. I want more than suspicions when I finally get to him.”

  “What have you found?”

  “Zip. Nada. The guy’s so clean, I’m surprised he’s not up for sainthood.”

  “Too clean?”

  “Let’s just say I always find it a little odd when there’s not so much as a traffic ticket on someone’s record. Hell, I’d settle for an overtime parking violation. Otherwise I start wondering who’s been taking care of them for him.”

  “The man builds parking lots. Maybe he’s never needed to park at a meter.”

  “I’m too tired for cute, Molly.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Watch your step out there today. Don’t wander around alone. Okay?”

  She didn’t need to ask why. She could sense Michael’s conviction that the danger had magnified, that for the killer the stakes had gotten bigger than ever. “I’ll be careful.”

  “I’ll be by later unless something breaks. Have Liza or someone come by this evening so you and Brian aren’t in that apartment alone.”

  Molly was quiet for several seconds before finally voicing something that had been on her mind. “Maybe I should send Brian to stay with his father for a few days,” she said. She had considered that possibility with great reluctance when Brian lay trembling in her arms in the middle of the night. Then she’d thought about the last angry exchange she’d had with Hal DeWitt, the last of many times when he’d suggested she wasn’t strong enough to have custody of their son.

  “That’s up to you,” Michael said. “Could be, though, that he’d be more terrified if he couldn’t see you and know you’re okay.”

  She thought of Vince’s offer to send both of them to California. If she mentioned it, Michael might very well insist she take Vince up on it. The truth of the matter was, though, that she wanted to stay near Michael. Since knowing him and feeling his respect for her grow, she’d felt herself getting stronger again, more in charge of her life. Foolhardy or not, she’d finally realized she really could take care of herself and Brian. With all that had happened, she hadn’t cracked. She wasn’t the inept woman Hal DeWitt had almost had her believing she was.

  “We’ll be there, when you get there,” she said finally.

  “Later, then.”

  Later, though, Molly had a brainstorm. It came to her as she was parking her car that night at the condo. They had never fully investigated the garage. She and Michael had both assumed that Allan’s fury at Brian when he caught him playing there was linked to the fact that the kids were spraying the hose. What if that weren’t the case? What if he’d just made a discovery and hadn’t wanted the kids near it—whatever it was—until he’d had a chance to fully investigate?

  With Brian upstairs waiting for her, she didn’t dare take the time to explore now, but she vowed to get Liza to look after him so she could come back down. As soon as they’d had dinner, she called Liza.

  “Can you come over and stay with Brian for a while?”

  “Sure. What’s up? You and the hunk heading out for the evening?”

  “I don’t think the hunk has time to date in the middle of a murder investigation. If he did, I’m not likely to be the companion of choice.”

  Liza gave an exaggerated sigh. “Priorities and timing are everything in life, aren’t they? So what are you doing?”

  “I just have to run an errand.”

  “Molly DeWitt,” Liza said skeptically, “what are you up to?”

  “An errand, that’s it.”

  “Exactly what sort of errand are you running that isn’t suitable for Brian? Do you have a fetish for X-rated movies you’ve never mentioned?”

  Molly improvised. “He has homework.”

  “Which he probably finished hours ago.”

  Exasperated and guilty, Molly retorted, “Are you coming over or not?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Liza was there in two minutes carrying a baseball bat. Molly’s eyes widened. “What on earth is that for?”

  “Protection.”

  “I think you’ll be safe enough in here.”

  “We’re not going to be in here. We’re coming with you.”

  “Liza, no. Not a chance.”

  “I’m not letting you go do whatever you’re considering doing on your own. I’ll use this on you, if I have to.”

  She actually sounded as if she meant it. Molly groaned and called Brian. “We’re going down to check out the garage to see if we can figure out why Mr. Winecroft got so upset when he found you playing down there.”

  Brian’s eyes grew as wide as Liza’s had. “Mom, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Detective O’Hara really won’t like it.”

  “And how do you know so much about what Detective O’Hara likes and doesn’t like?”

  “He called me this afternoon.”

  “He did? What did he want?”

  “Just to talk and stuff. We made a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “He said if I’d take care of you, he’d find the killer.”

  Quite a deal, Molly thought. Apparently, though, it had reassured Brian and that was all that mattered. “You can still keep your bargain. We’ll all go to the garage together and we’ll tell him everything we find.”

  Brian frowned. “Jeez, Mom, I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

  Molly’s expression turned grim. “It’s the best deal you’re getting from me. We’ll be just fine if we stick together. Liza has a bat.”

  Brian rolled his eyes. “Mom, have you ever seen her play ball? She’d miss an elephant.”

  Liza looked offended. “See if I ever play with you again, kid.”

  Molly left the apartment without waiting to see if they followed. She knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that they wouldn’t.

  Ridiculously enough, they found themselves tiptoeing across the concrete in the garage. When they reached the well-lighted greenhouse area, Molly led the way inside. There was nothing spooky or frightening about the escapade so far. Nor was there anything especially revealing. A few pieces of rusted equipment had been abandoned in a plastic tray. Bags of fertilizer and potting soil were stacked in one corner. A hose lay coiled nearby. Other than that, the only things in the greenhouse were growing. A few palms, some more disgustingly healthy impatiens, a scraggly fern in dire need of misting.

  Molly kicked at a bag of soil in disgust. “Well, this was certainly a waste of time.”

  “Maybe not,” Liza said slowly.

  Molly followed the direction of her gaze. She was staring at one of those portable sheds a few yards away. It was in an assigned parking place. Either an owner had put it there for additional storage or the space had been unsold and the shed belonged to the condominium.

  “What’s in here?” Liza said moving closer. Molly and Brian were right behind her.

  “I’m not sure,” Molly said. “I’ve never even noticed it before. I don’t park on this side.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Brian said. “It’s open sometimes in the daytime.”

  “Have you seen the inside?”

  “It’s just boxes and stuff.”

  “Who’s had it open?”

  “Maintenance guys, people like that.”

  “Was it open the day you fought with Mr. Winecroft?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t think so, unless Mr. Winecroft had just closed the door or something. Nobody else was here.”

  Molly tried the handle. It was locked. “So much for that.”

  “Wait a second,” Liza said. She went back into the greenhouse and found a piece of wire that had been used to close one of the bags of fertilizer. She twis
ted it loose and brought it back. An expression of concentration on her face, she jiggled it in the lock for about fifteen seconds and the door swung open.

  “How’d you do that?” Brian asked in awe.

  “Don’t you dare tell him,” Molly warned. She scowled at her too curious son. “If I so much as see you within fifty yards of a locked door with a piece of wire in your hands, I’ll ground you until you graduate from high school.”

  “Save the parental lectures,” Liza said. “Let’s check this out and get out of here.”

  They stepped inside. The shed was hot and stuffy, its single aisle narrow. Shelves lined both sides. The shelves were crammed with boxes, bottles, and jars of cleaning supplies. Whole drums of liquid carpet shampoo sat on the floor. In all, there was more than it would take to clean Ocean Manor from top to bottom for months on end.

  “This hardly seems like the stuff over which murders are committed,” Liza said. “I can’t tell you the last time I got worked up over copper polish.”

  “A lot of copper polish,” Molly pointed out.

  Liza stared at her. “Meaning?”

  “Do you know of any copper in our building? Maybe the pipes in the plumbing, but I doubt they spend a lot of time polishing those.”

  Liza grabbed up a bottle. “Maybe it can be used on brass. See, it says so right here. And there’s brass in the elevators.”

  “Not enough to justify several hundred dollars’ worth of polish.”

  “So maybe the order came in by mistake.”

  “Then why didn’t someone send it back? How much of this was ordered because we need it and how much because somebody got a cut of the action?”

  Liza was shaking her head. She gestured around the tiny shed. “The profit on this is peanuts.”

  “Maybe it’s also just the tip of the iceberg. Come on. I want to call Michael and let him know. He can decide if it’s important or not. I’ve got the budget figures upstairs, too. We can see how much all of this cost.”

  When they got back to the fifth floor, Molly’s door was standing wide open. Liza stared down the hall indignantly. “Why, of all the nerve,” she said and marched straight toward the apartment, bat upraised.

  Molly caught her arm. “Are you out of your mind? Let’s go into your place and call the police.”

  Before they could do that, though, she heard Michael’s voice from inside her apartment. He was cussing someone out in a mix of English and Spanish. Molly caught the drift of his displeasure in both languages.

  “Madre de Dios, are you loco? I told you not to let her out of your sight. I don’t care if you followed her to the apartment and then sat out front to watch in case she decided to leave again. Didn’t it occur to you that she could leave by foot or go someplace else in the building? The killer lives here, dammit!”

  Molly touched his shoulder. Michael whirled around, his complexion an exhausted gray under the olive tone. He slammed the phone into the cradle and pulled her into his arms. “Jesus, I thought something had happened to you.”

  Molly could feel the slam of his heart in his chest, the tension in his muscles as his arms enfolded her. She might very well have stayed right where she was forever, but Michael let her go as a sigh of relief shuddered through him.

  “Where have you three been? It took ten years off my life, when I came I here and you were missing. I knocked on every door in the hall. No one had seen you. You promised you’d stay here tonight until I got here.”

  “We went down to the garage,” Molly said meekly, as Liza challenged Brian to a video game and left her alone with Michael.

  “Why?”

  “It occurred to me we might have missed something the last time.”

  “Did we?”

  “Not in the greenhouse.” She told him what they’d found in the storage shed and the significance she’d attributed to it.

  “Could be,” he admitted. “Where’s the budget?”

  She found the papers and handed them to him, then waited in silence as he went over the items under supplies. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m looking for. I need cleanser, I buy one can of whatever’s on sale. I have no idea what constitutes a good deal for a place like this.”

  “But Manny Mendoza would know.”

  Michael nodded. “It all keeps coming back to him, doesn’t it? I suppose it couldn’t hurt to stop by for an unofficial chat.”

  He was halfway to the door before he realized that Molly was right where he’d left her. He grinned. “You, too. It’ll look less official that way. Besides, then I’ll know exactly where you are.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The Mendozas were having a party. At least fifty people were crowded into their penthouse apartment, sipping brandy, following what had apparently been a lavish dinner. The heavy scent of Cuban cigar smoke drifted into the room, even though the smokers had been sent to the balcony for their after-dinner indulgence.

  “Molly, how lovely to see you again,” Rosa said, looking surprised but delighted. “And Detective O’Hara, isn’t it?”

  Michael nodded. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but I need to speak with your husband for a moment. Alone, if that’s possible.”

  “Why don’t I show you into the den, then?”

  As they crossed the living room, Michael greeted several of the Latin men whom Molly recognized as developers and bankers. As soon as Rosa had ushered them into the den and offered them something to drink, she said, “I think Manny’s out on the balcony. I’ll send him right in.”

  When Rosa had gone, Molly said, “There were enough power brokers in that room to buy and sell downtown Miami.”

  “That’s probably exactly what they were doing. A lot of deals get made in social settings just like this.”

  Manny Mendoza came into the room just then, an unlit cigar firmly clamped between his teeth. He took it out and dropped it into an ashtray. “Rosa insisted I give them up. Can’t break the habit, though,” he muttered. He eyed the offending cigar as if it were responsible for his weakness. Then he smiled. Molly had seen expressions like that before on posters of benign dictators.

  “Now, then,” he said, taking a seat behind an oversize desk. Under other circumstances the desk’s size might be functional. Tonight it was also intimidating, separating him from them, even though his words demonstrated a spirit of cooperation.

  “What can I do for you?” he inquired. Shrewd brown eyes seemed to be assessing both Michael and Molly. He dismissed her and concentrated on the detective.

  Michael leaned forward. “Mr. Mendoza, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about the night of Allan’s murder. I believe you told me you had a meeting that night.”

  “Yes, a committee of the Latin Developers Association.”

  “In a Little Havana restaurant, is that right?”

  “Versailles, yes.”

  “Do any of the other men who attended that meeting happen to be here tonight?”

  Mendoza’s eyes darkened with quick anger, but his voice remained impassive. “Quite a few of them, as a matter of fact.”

  “I’d appreciate it, if you would point them out to me in a moment.”

  “Friend,” Mendoza began in a decidedly unfriendly tone, then, “amigo.” With a glance at Molly he launched into a barrage of Spanish. He spoke too rapidly for her to follow what he was saying, but the increasingly furious expression on Michael’s face suggested that Mendoza had made a very bad miscalculation.

  “Mr. Mendoza, that is not how I conduct police business,” Michael said. Since his own Spanish was flawless, Molly had the feeling he was deliberately using English as a slap in the man’s face. “I don’t intentionally set out to get Hispanics, nor will I accept a bribe to protect them, and I resent the hell out of the fact that you think I would. Maybe greasing palms is the way you got things done in Cuba. Maybe
it still oils wheels for you in Miami. It doesn’t cut shit with me.”

  Mendoza looked offended, though Molly wasn’t sure whether it was by the accusation or the obscenity. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Detective, please. I meant no offense. I merely asked that you do nothing here tonight. Some critical business matters hang in the balance. I would hate to have them go the wrong way because of your ill-timed questions.”

  “If world peace hung in the balance, you might not be able to stop me from asking,” Michael said, tension radiating from every indignant pore. “I will make every attempt not to upset anyone, but I’m trying to find a killer and some of your guests might be able to help.”

  “Only if you think that I am the killer, isn’t that right? You wish to check my alibi?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And can you not see that someone wishing to do business with me might have grave second thoughts if it were suggested that I might be involved in a murder investigation? Could you not call these people tomorrow? I will give you a list. It would be a favor to me, one I would not forget.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know, and I apologize for any misunderstanding. I see now that you are a man of principle. That does not mean that at some time in the future I would not be able to pay you back for your kindness tonight, perhaps with a word in the right ear.”

  No matter how Mendoza tried to polish it up, it still sounded like bribery to Molly. She watched Michael’s reaction. He continued to look as if he’d tasted water tainted with pond scum.

  Sensing that he might be close to victory, despite Michael’s expression of distaste, Mendoza said persuasively, “Perhaps you would like to stay, mingle a bit. You could observe, perhaps even ask a discreet question or two. I could trust you to be very discreet, could I not?”

  “Fine,” Michael said.

  “That is wonderful,” Mendoza said enthusiastically, beaming at his success. Molly doubted that he experienced losing often. “Come with me. I will have Enrique give you a drink.”

  At the mention of the guard’s name Molly and Michael exchanged glances. Perhaps they would learn more tonight than they’d anticipated only moments earlier.