Smokey Eyes

by Barbara Silkstone

My sweet patient kitty gobbled down a tin of salmon pate.

  The fish seemed like a dandy idea. I pulled together a small plate of smoked salmon, some nut flour crackers, capers, and onions, and hibiscus iced tea. While I munched, I thought about my approach to Grayson Cod.

  At half-past eight I called him at The Brent Hotel. “Mr. Grayson Cod, please?”

  When he answered, I rattled off my prepared speech without taking a breath.

  “I’d like to apologize for the way I responded to your offer to cooperate in the Brent Toast investigation. Lizzy and I were on edge and your visit caught us off guard. After reconsideration, you might be right about collaborating. What we know may be of value to you and vice-versa. If you’re free, we’ll pop by at ten tomorrow morning.”

  The silence on his end made me think he’d hung up, but then I detected a slight breathing sound and he said, “Very well, I’ll meet you in the hotel coffee shop.”

  I’d bluffed myself into a corner. I had no information to trade—at least not that I knew of. I’d have to get him to talk first. Would he open up to a shrink? My partner might have to lather on the charm.

  Lizzy answered her phone on the first ring.

  “Be at my place before nine in the morning. We’re meeting with Grayson Cod at his hotel. Dress code is dark and serious.”

  Chapter 23

  I hit the Howard Franklin Bridge with half an hour to spare. Lizzy and I would arrive at The Brent Hotel in Tampa exactly on time—not early, not late. We would be brilliant. Grayson Cod would be overcome with respect for us and spill all his beans. The power of positive thinking!

  Lizzy wore a black bias cut dress that clung to her middle and flared just above her knees. Instead of wedgies she sported black pumps and black pantyhose. She looked like a mafia princess attending a funeral. I couldn’t keep the cringe from my face. Her definition of dark and serious didn’t agree with my gray business suit.

  “I haven’t worn pantyhose in years. Now I remember why!” She plucked at her knees and twanged at her waistband during the entire drive from Starfish Cove.

  As we crested the middle of the bridge a trucker honked and waved down at our car. I looked over to see Lizzy’s dress up around her thighs, as she fought the battle of the pantyhose.

  “Hey, noodle! You’re going to cause an accident. Stop fussing. You look fine.”

  “They itch!” She paused in her tugging for half a minute, then resumed until the very last minute when we pulled under the hotel’s arched canopy.

  I handed my key to the valet and joined my partner.

  “Ready?” I took a deep breath.

  Lizzy adjusted her skirt and threw back her shoulders.

  We entered the glass and marble lobby, heads high and heels clicking. If Grayson Cod was the big kahuna investigator Myron made him out to be, then it was important he see us as smart women sleuths—one of whom was on her way to a funeral.

  Aside from my connection to Myron Meyers, there wasn’t much to hide but still I felt naked going toe-to-toe with a guy who could expose my deepest secrets. Said secrets were embarrassingly lean. One unpaid parking ticket in Manhattan. The skeletons in Lizzy’s closet were local legend.

  “I’ve got to hit the ladies’ room before we meet him,” Lizzy said. She wiggle-walked across the lobby. My partner did have a distinctive strut—a cartoon version of Marilyn Monroe on ice.

  I stood near the restroom door staring at the hotel entrance and the three-story wall of glass that faced Tampa Bay. Sunlight ricocheted off the waters stinging my eyes.

  Closing my lids I silently rehearsed the opening lines I would use on the icy man of mystery. Once. Twice. A clever gambit designed to get Grayson Cod to share.

  Come on Lizzy! What’s taking so long?

  Three minutes remained before we were to meet Grayson in the coffee shop.

  The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t because I’d skipped breakfast. This guy got under my skin even before Myron recited his bio. There was a coldness about him that said Don’t even try.

  What if he was the killer? Last night it seemed like a good idea to let him assume I had information to trade. A cool bluff. Second thoughts began to plague me.

  What if I put Lizzy in danger because I was determined to play Nancy Drew?

  My watch said we were now officially late. I shivered. What was up with Lizzy? If something happened to her, I’d never forgive myself. Had she been mugged in the potty?

  Just as I adjusted the shoulder strap on my purse and prepared to enter the restroom, Lizzy wiggle-walked past me—oblivious. She sashayed almost to the center of the lobby keeping her back toward me.

  I fell back against the wall laughing so hard my breath hitched.

  Lizzy spun around, spotted me and flounced in my direction. “What’s so funny?”

  Her clueless question made the entire scene funnier. I doubled over clutching my stomach. Tears flowed and my nose ran. I was laughing so hard it became soundless.

  “What?” She moved closer all the while looking about the lobby for whatever had reduced me to a hooting fool.

  Each time she asked what I was laughing about—I laughed harder. Unable to breathe I couldn’t get the words out. Bent in half and hysterical, I managed a one-finger motion for her to head back to the ladies’ room.

  Wiping at my teary eyes, I caught sight of Grayson Cod standing behind Lizzy in the center of the lobby. An unreadable expression graced his face. This was not exactly the way I had intended to impress him.

  Muffled giggles wracked my body as I followed Lizzy into the ladies’ room. She imitated my twirling finger and spun around in view of the full-length mirror. As she got a look at her backside, I leaned over a sink fighting the hiccups. My ribs ached.

  The skirt of her dress caught up and bunched in the waistband of her pantyhose left her butt completely exposed under a layer of sheer black nylon—the panty part of the hose.

  If she hadn’t been doing her Marilyn Monroe wiggle-walk perhaps it wouldn’t have been quite as hilarious—but her confident, celebrity stride put the scene over the top.

  She grabbed her butt with both hands. Her wide-eyed look dissolved me into laughter again. We tumbled onto a long upholstered lounge and laughed ourselves to exhaustion.

  “I d-d-on’t t-think I c-can f-face G-g-grayson C-c-od.” She covered her head with her arms.

  “You don’t have to face him, he’s more familiar with your backside.”

  “Oh no! Please tell me he wasn’t there. Maybe we can just sneak out.”

  I rubbed a wet tissue under my raccoon eyes. “What’s done is done. Maybe he’ll take pity on us.”

  “Do you think he’s waiting outside the door?”

  “We’ll know what kind of person he is in a minute,” I said. “If he left in disgust we’ll try another approach—something less creative. If he’s waiting on us then he has a human side. I’m hoping for the latter.”

  As I threw my shoulder against the door, Lizzy grabbed my arm. “I can’t go out there. How many people saw?”

  “I was laughing too hard to count.” I raised my palm in a high-five. “Here’s to us! All for one and one for—is your butt covered?”

  A willingness to believe that everything would be all right settled over me.

  Chapter 24

  Grayson Cod leaned against a pillar twenty feet from the ladies’ room. His gray pinstripe suit draped his tall lean frame in just the right places, while the flecks in his tie brought out the highlights in his sandy hair.

  A slow smile built on his face.

  We were safe. Either he had written us off as total flakes or we were the objects of pity. Either way we could work with it.

  He extended his hand. “Ms. Peroni. Ms. Kelly. I hope your shop is doing well. It’s good to see you again. There was a teasing look in his eyes when he spoke the word see. “I have a booth in the coffee shop. Shall we?”

  He motioned us to proceed ahead of him—checking for any further w
ardrobe malfunctions. I led, Lizzy followed, and Grayson brought up the rear. He indicated the private nook with a subtle motion of his hand.

  Once we were seated a waitress flitted over, poured coffee from a carafe, and took our orders. Not expecting to eat, it was an agreeable return to normality. Grayson didn’t say a word about the incident, nor did the expression on his face register anything but business courtesy.

  He didn’t waste any time. “You have some information for me?”

  “May I speak first? I have a few questions.” I donned my therapist face and dove in.

  “Our interest in the murder of Brent Toast is spurred by the fact that Jaimie Toast is a friend of ours. We believe she’s incapable of murder—especially such a violent act. We’re determined to find the killer.”

  He brought his coffee up pausing halfway to his mouth. “And your questions?”

  “We know your reputation,” I said.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “Toast was into real estate. You’re no more an investor in non-liquid assets than I am. The last thing you would ever want is an attention hungry business partner.”

  A smile played around the corners of his mouth. He cut his eyes to Lizzy.

  “My partner wasn’t seeking attention, she just had a pantyhose malfunction.”

  Grayson tapped the edge of his cup with an index finger. His eyes flitted from Lizzy back to me. “Usually I don’t take anyone into my confidence but I’m working against a deadline. You seem to be up to your noses in Brent’s murder. I could use your inside connections. If you tell anyone about this remember—I know where you live.”

  His words sounded like a threat, but the amiable smile on his face made it hard to tell if he was joking. Myron said Grayson Cod was dangerous. Was this the face of danger?

  Before I could respond, Lizzy jumped in. “We don’t even tell each other what we know. We’re highly trustable.”

  “Highly trustable, huh?”

  We nodded.

  He stopped tapping and started talking. “Suppose there was an elderly lady worth billions. This philanthropic woman was at the end of her days. Being the type of person who believes in leaving the world better than she found it, she divvied up her estate between her favorite charities and her son who was already worth close to a billion.”

  Grayson paused as the waitress delivered our food.

  My stomach flip-flopped as Lizzy dumped three dollops of ketchup on poached eggs. The red and yellow breakfast splat was a good reason not to eat breakfast with her. Ketchup covers the icky taste of eggs.

  The waitress left and Grayson continued. “This hypothetical woman begins to hear rumors of her son’s slimy business practices. She worries for the people he might have hurt and so she has a new will drawn. One that leaves the part that doesn’t go to charities to her grandson except for a percentage to be given to her son—provided he conducts himself ethically.”

  Grayson cut into his rare steak with precision. Blood ran into his sunny side up eggs. He dipped a bite of steak into egg yolk before forking it into his mouth, even more disgusting than the mess on Lizzy’s plate.

  I dabbed butter on my whole wheat toast. The simulated car wrecks on Lizzy’s and Grayson’s plates ensured my southwestern omelet garnished with red salsa would go unmolested.

  Watching the investigator eat his breakfast was like watching an autopsy. Lizzy was too busy gobbling her ketchupped yolk-filled orbs to notice.

  Grayson laid his fork and knife on his plate when he was down to one small bite of steak left to bleed into egg yolk smears. He jumped back into his story like he hadn’t taken time to consume a meal that would ruin anybody’s appetite except Lizzy’s.

  “The hypothetical lady added a codicil to her will that provided for a private detective to investigate the business practices of her son after her death. Her fortune would be held in trust until a final report was turned over to lawyers within six months of her passing.”

  Lizzy and I exchanged looks before I spoke. “So, the grandson would get one hundred percent of her fortune if his father was a bad guy but the son was a decent sort?”

  “Exactly.” Grayson said. He blotted his lips with his napkin. “The investigative period is up at the end of this month. If the killer should prove to be…”

  “If the hypothetical son of the hypothetical lady was stabbed on a hypothetical boat then the grandson and his wife would be the main suspects?” Lizzy licked her lips as she spoke. “If Chip killed Brent—”

  “Lizzy!” I whispered.

  “Sorry! I got carried away.” She pinned the last piece of yellow on her fork and slid it around her plate creating disgusting red swirls.

  “My turn,” Grayson said. “I understand the eyeball lineup was arranged because you saw the killer’s eyes?”

  I gulped. He could be the killer who’d just delivered a load of blarney. Using my experience as a psychologist and a smidge of gut feeling, I answered him. “I might have seen the killer’s eyes while I was hanging around the Very Crabby.”

  “Describe them.”

  A herd of squirrels began wrestling in my already destroyed stomach. The eyes I saw looked like yours. Light, bluish, greenish, grayish.”

  I’d also just described Chip and Jaimie’s eyes. “The person I saw in the fog might not have been the killer.”

  “Chip Toast seems to be a good sort,” Grayson said. “If he eventually inherited the post of chairman of the board of the Toast Family Fund he would be able to help a lot of needy people. If he’s a scoundrel he’ll be eliminated from the will. All the money will go to charity.”

  The conversation went on hold while the waitress took our plates.

  “So hypothetically all that needs to be shown is that someone other than Chip murdered Brent.” I watched his eyes for a reaction.

  “We also have the not so hypothetical ingredient—Jaimie Toast. She reunited with Chip when the terms of the will became known. I believe we sit on opposite sides of the table where your friend is concerned. She had motive, opportunity, and I heard her arguing with Brent right before he was killed.”

  “Does Jaimie know you heard her?” Things weren’t looking good for our loud mouth friend. Two of us heard her quarrel with Brent.

  “Let’s agree to join up and work on this. If your friend is innocent, we’ll prove it. If not—”

  “You are so wrong about her!” Lizzy snapped.

  “Nancy Nemo won’t have anything to do with me. That’s where you come in. I can work with Kathy and Sonny Angel.”

  Now we knew why Grayson agreed to see us. Nancy would sooner dip Grayson, who she believed was Brent’s partner, in batter and fry him. Lizzy and I were the key to Crabby Nancy.

  I leaned back in my seat and steepled my fingers. “What do you think, Lizzy? Can we trust this guy?”

  A cone of silence fell over the table but not for long.

  Lizzy twisted a curl and did her lip-licking thing. “We can get into Nancy’s head, but why are you interested in Kathy?” She rested her chin in her palm and stared at Grayson.

  “I’m Brent’s partner in the acquisition of The Billows Hotel. He’s been applying pressure—playing dirty—driving the hotel out of business before he made an offer. Kathy Angel was wise to him. I’m collecting all the final details before I file my report.”

  He signaled our waitress for the check.

  “One more thing—Sonny has no financial interest in The Billows. Old man Angel adored his daughter but had no use for his son.”

  “Kathy started to tell me something about Sonny being disinherited. She never did finish.”

  “The old man and Sonny were too much alike to get along. They hadn’t spoken in years.”

  “That happens more often than you’d imagine.”

  I gathered my purse, and nodded at Lizzy. We were ready to leave.

  “Thanks for breakfast and the download.” Grayson and I traded cell phone numbers without settling on a second meeting.

 
Lizzy and I left the hotel while the hotshot investigator remained in the booth. A little discretion couldn’t hurt after our showy arrival.

  Once again we’d be late opening the shop. Jaimie didn’t know it but she owed us big time.

  Chapter 25

  A slew of orders awaited us at the mail slot when we opened the shop at noon. Lizzy gathered them from the floor and piled them on the counter.

  I patted the stack. “This is almost like having a low-tech online business. The orders just roll in.”

  Lizzy smiled. “If running the shop and meeting the ladies wasn’t so much fun, we could almost turn Nonna’s Cold Cream into an online business.” She smiled. “But I love the personal touch. I’ll call these women and tell them the good-bad news. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “That’s one of your many admirable qualities, Lizzy. You can take an awkward situation and add enough sunshine to make it sound like the best thing that ever happened!”

  She blushed. “Speaking of awkward situations what about our promise to Grayson? Aren’t we supposed to be grilling Nancy?”

  “It’s twelve-thirty. One of the worst times to call a restaurant—but call Dave anyway. Find out if Nancy’s there.”

  “This is an emergency.” She produced her phone from her purse, said, “Call Dave,” and drummed her fingers on the counter until he answered.

  “Sorry Dave. Quick question. Is Nancy in the restaurant?” She shook her head at me.

  “Any idea where she is? Gone that long? She wouldn’t leave the Fried Fish without providing a way of getting in touch with her. Thanks. Go back to work. Kisses!”

  “Nancy’s disappeared on her boat somewhere local—avoiding humanity. Dave hasn’t seen her since the lineup. She’s not allowed to leave town. He guesses she might have dropped anchor off Fort Desoto Park. She likes it there.”

  Time for me to befriend the friendless crab. “Here’s the plan. I’ll zip you over to your house to pick up your car. You come back and man the shop. I’ll track down Nancy at Fort DeSoto and use my best therapist techniques to crack her shell.”