A Deadly Slice of Lime: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 6 (3 page)

Marilyn
was finding it difficult to determine at a glance whether or not the listings
that she’d found online for Elizabeth Melman actually pertained to the
Elizabeth Melman that she was looking for, and she didn’t feel like spending
the time to go through each one to check them out, so, on a hunch, she searched
the name of the woman’s attorney instead. On the law firm’s website, there was
a link which led to an external source called
CaseRecall.com
, so she
followed the link and entered Elizabeth’s name under the box that said
“Plaintiff.” Pages of entries started loading, and Marilyn was shocked to see
that Ms. Melman had filed, and won, more than a dozen personal injury lawsuits,
having sustained everything from whiplash to a sprained wrist and more. In
every instance, she had been the “victim” of some sort of accident at a local
business.

“How
is this possible?” Marilyn murmured aloud, scanning the various cases for details,
and seeing evidence photos depicting Elizabeth as the victim, wearing neck
braces, slings, casts, and even being moved about in a wheelchair.

“Ms.
Hayes…I finished the tarts. Do you want me to take over up here?” Kelcie called
from the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“No,
I’ve got this,” her boss replied, tearing her eyes from the screen. “We’re not
busy today, why don’t you go ahead and take off early. I’ll clock you out at
your normal time.”

“Really?”
the young woman was delighted at the prospect of leaving early and still
getting paid for her entire shift.

“Yep,
I’m good here. Go have fun,” Marilyn smiled, noting how Kelcie had brightened
at her suggestion.

“Yes
ma’am, thank you,” she called over her shoulder, untying her apron on the way
back to the kitchen.

Marilyn
continued to scroll through court cases involving Elizabeth Melman, and again
didn’t hear the door when a man about her age entered.

“Well,
it’s no wonder this place isn’t taken care of properly,” the man sneered. “You’re
so busy playing on your computer that you ignore your customers when they come
into the store.” He was dark-haired and pale, wearing long pants and a
button-down shirt, which made him a bit of an anomaly on the island, where most
of the patrons were tanned and sported swimsuits or shorts.

Marilyn
looked up, confused, wondering who this man was and what on earth he was
talking about. “Excuse me?” she said, trying to give him the benefit of the
doubt.

“What
a dump,” he made a face, looking around at her brightly-painted, cozy little
shop.

“Look
here, I don’t know who you think you are…” she stood, astounded at the pasty
stranger’s rudeness.

“I’m
Melvin Bland, Elizabeth Melman’s nephew, that’s who, and what you did to my
aunt because of your carelessness is completely unacceptable,” the man’s face
reddened and he looked as though he might have an apoplectic fit on the spot.

“Well,
Mr. Bland, you can just take your bad attitude and rude manner back out the way
that you came, and don’t come back until you’ve decided to behave properly,”
Marilyn’s eyes flashed fire.

“Don’t
worry, I’m not going to hang around in this dump for any longer than absolutely
necessary,” he sniffed. “I just had to come see how bad this place was for
myself,” he gazed around, hands on hips.

“Get.
Out.” Marilyn ordered, pointing at the door, ready to come out from behind the
desk to escort him out if necessary.

“I’ll
see you in court,” he grinned smugly, showing a mouth full of yellow and
partially rotted teeth. He sauntered toward the door, leaving a cloud of cheap
cologne in his wake.

“Unbelievable,”
she muttered, shaking her head as he took his own sweet time in exiting the
shop. While she stood there, hands on hips, staring out the front door after
the man, another person entered the shop, but this time it was a pleasantly
familiar face.

“Hey
Trudy,” Marilyn smiled a greeting at the owner of Trudy’s diner. She’d known
Trudy practically since she moved to Key West. The diner owner purchased her
desserts exclusively from Marilyn, swearing that she’d never tasted better Key
Lime pie in her life.

“Hey
Marilyn,” the rough-hewn, hard-working woman with calloused hands and a gentle
heart replied. “That tourist looks like he’s in serious need of some Florida
sunshine,” the stout, grey-haired woman commented, glancing down the street as
Melvin Bland ambled to his ancient grey sedan.

“Oh,
honey, he’s no tourist,” Marilyn said, her words dripping distaste. She
explained what had happened with Elizabeth’s fall and her nephew’s visit. Trudy
listened attentively, a strange look coming over her face when she mentioned
Elizabeth’s name.

“What
is it?” Marilyn asked, concerned at her expression.

“Well,
I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Trudy began. “But somehow Litigation
Lizzie set her sights on you this time,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“Litigation
Lizzie?” she was puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“That
old broad makes her living by collecting insurance settlements from local
businesses after faking an injury. Most owners realize that it’s just easier
and far cheaper to settle than it is to fight her in court, so when they get a
letter from her attorney, they make an offer and she walks away with huge sums
of money,” the diner owner explained.

“Are
you kidding me? That’s awful,” Marilyn exclaimed, aghast. “I saw a bunch of
info about her on the internet. Has she ever done this to you?” she asked.

“Heck
no,” Trudy shook her head. “I testified against her at one of the trials
because I had witnessed her walking around without crutches, so I snapped a
picture of it on my cell phone. She threatened me, and I got a restraining
order. The old crone can’t come within five hundred feet of my house or
business,” she finished, folding her arms and pursing her lips.

“What
a mess,” Marilyn sighed. “What should I do?”

“Well,
first I’d recommend boxing up some of those amazing pies for your good buddy
Trudy,” her friend joked. “Then, if it was me…I think I’d be tempted to follow
the old biddy for a bit and catch her in the act of not being hurt,” she
suggested with a shrug. “It’ll take a little time, but it might pay off well in
the end.”

Marilyn
nodded, mechanically reaching into the display case for the pies, and loading
them into boxes while forming a plan in her mind. She got Trudy’s order taken
care of, thankful that it was closing time when the diner owner left. She
turned over the sign that said Open and switched off the lights after packing
the leftover pies and goodies into coolers to take to the homeless shelter and
children’s home. Lugging the larger of the two coolers through the kitchen and
out the back door, she gasped and nearly dropped it when she opened the back
door that led to the parking lot and almost ran into her neighbor.

“Oh,
geez, Tim!” she exclaimed, annoyed. “What are you doing lurking around out
here?” she demanded.

“She
went with two older men this time,” he peered at her, fish-eyed behind his
glasses.

“I
know, Tim,” Marilyn replied with a sigh. “I told you already, Tiara’s father is
in town…wait…did you say two men?” she asked, putting the cooler in the trunk
of her car.

Tim
nodded. “One from before, and another one,” he confirmed, frowning. “She didn’t
look happy when she came back,” his voice was ominous.

“Came
back? She’s back already?” She looked at her watch, seeing that it was only
five o’clock. If Tiara’s father had met her at the marina at one, they couldn’t
have had a very long trip, which could mean that something negative had
happened. Now worried about her daughter, Marilyn pondered whether she should
still stop by and drop off the donation pies, or if she should just stock her
freezer at home. Torn, she decided to go ahead and quickly make the donations
and then go straight home to see what had happened between Tiara and her dad.

For
the first time practically since she’d known him, Marilyn regarded her neighbor
with a measure of gratitude. “Thanks for letting me know, Tim. I’ll take care
of her when I get home,” she said, hurrying inside for the smaller cooler.

“It
wasn’t a big deal, Mom,” Tiara sighed, pushing a slice of succulent pot roast
around on her plate, making designs in the rich brown gravy.

“Young
lady, it is a very big deal to have a man twice your age hitting on you,”
Marilyn shot back, livid. Apparently, the friend with whom Daniel was
vacationing had taken quite a liking to her daughter.

“He
didn’t mean anything by it, and he wasn’t even good at flirting,” the young
woman rolled her eyes. “Can we just drop it, Mom? Please? You’re making me lose
my appetite,” she put her fork down on her plate and raised her eyebrows. “I
handled it, the captain of the boat put him in his place, and that’s the end of
it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”

“Fine,
but if I ever see your father…”

“Mom,
stop!” Tiara protested.

“Fine,
fine,” Marilyn raised her hands in surrender, her disapproval evident in her
face as she twirled a bite of garlic mashed potatoes artfully onto the end of
her fork, making the savory treat look like the frosting that she used on her
cupcakes before popping it into her mouth.

“So,
what did you find out about Ms. Melman today?” Tiara asked, deliberately
changing the subject.

Marilyn
related what she’d found online, as well as what Trudy had told her, causing
the young woman to shake her head in disbelief.

“That
sucks,” her daughter proclaimed, spearing a sautéed mushroom. Her mother had
made all of her favorites for dinner when she’d heard what had happened on the
fishing trip.

“Language,”
she chastised mildly, receiving the expected eye-roll from the young woman
sitting across from her in sweatpants and an old college t-shirt.

“So,
what are you going to do?” Tiara asked, ignoring her mother’s reproach and
finally eating in earnest.

“Trudy
suggested that I catch her in the act of not being hurt, so that’s exactly what
I intend to do,” Marilyn replied with great resolve.

“How
do you propose to do that?” her daughter said through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Simple,
I’m going to spy on her,” she proclaimed, choosing to ignore the young woman’s
temporary lack of etiquette, chalking it up to her traumatic afternoon.

“In
what way?” Tiara put her fork down, staring at her mother warily.

“I’m
going to find out where she lives and stake out her house. Whenever she leaves,
I’ll follow. Wherever she goes, I’ll be there too…watching and waiting,” she
explained casually.

“I
don’t think that’s such a great idea, Mom.”

“What?
Why not?” Marilyn asked.

“What
if she sees you? And how long are you going to do this?” Tiara grilled her.

“For
as long as it takes. Honey, I don’t have four million dollars to give this
woman.”

“Well,
I know that, but who is going to take your place at the shop? Are Kelcie and I
just supposed to pick up all of the slack? That doesn’t sound very fair,” she
protested.

“Fair
or not, it has to happen this way,” Marilyn didn’t budge an inch. “You two can
handle it, you’re more than capable. If you recall, you and I ran the shop for
quite a while before Kelcie came along,” she reminded her daughter.

“Yeah,
and the sales volume was far less,” Tiara pointed out.

“Then,
I’ll shut it down for a while if I have to,” she insisted. “This is important –
I can’t just let it go.”

Tiara
sighed. “You can’t shut it down, that’ll look suspicious. We’ll manage,
just…just be careful, okay? We don’t know what kind of people that we’re
dealing with,” her eyes were filled with concern, making Marilyn feel glad that
she hadn’t told her about Melvin Bland’s visit earlier in the day.

“Of
course I’ll be careful, honey. I can handle this,” her mother reassured her.
“Since you finished your dinner, I believe a slice of pie is in order,” she
suggested with a wink.

“I
believe that you’re correct,” Tiara smiled faintly, deciding to let it go.

Marilyn
sat in her car with the engine off, not wanting to burn through all of her gas
and ruin the ozone layer by running her air conditioning. Beads of sweat formed
on her upper lip in the heat of the mid-morning Florida sun. She’d been sitting
down the street from Elizabeth Melman’s modest little ranch house for three
days running now, and while she’d seen Melvin come and go a couple of times,
she’d had yet to spot the doddering deceiver herself, and she was getting more
than a bit frustrated with the whole situation. Luck was on her side this
morning however, and shortly after ten, Melvin came out from the side yard, pushing
Lizzie in a wheelchair. She quickly pulled out her cell phone and snapped a
picture of the woman, who certainly didn’t seem to be in pain.

Fortunately,
the deceptive duo headed down the street away from where Marilyn sat in her
car, and, as soon as they were far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to
hear the opening and closing of the car door, she took off after them on foot.
They were apparently out for a leisurely stroll and headed for a nearby park. Plenty
of trees and bushes dotted the landscape, so Marilyn was able to follow closely
enough to hear their voices, but was too far away to actually detect what they
were saying. Aunt and nephew stopped to rest in the shade of a tree that stood
about ten feet from a sandstone building that housed bathrooms. Marilyn peered
around the corner of the building and noticed that directly above where the
couple stood, there was a large beehive, with bees actively buzzing about, and
an idea that was simple but profound popped into her head.

Glancing
about to make certain that no one else was in the vicinity of the tree and the
bathroom building, she crouched down and picked up a rock that was roughly the
size of a golf ball, thankful that she had elected to play softball in high
school rather than soccer. She did another quick check to make sure that no
innocent park-goers might be caught up in her plan, then, seeing that the path
was clear, she gauged the distance, wound up as though she were on the mound
again, and let the stone fly as hard as she could, the beehive its intended
target.

The
first indication that she had nailed her target was the sudden and frantic
increase in activity at the hive, and the accidental thud as the stone dropped
squarely on Melvin Bland’s head. Before he could even look up to see what had
hit him, he began madly slapping at himself and running toward the
algae-covered pond in the park, with Litigation Lizzie at his heels, magically
cured of whatever hip ailment had allegedly put her in the chair. Marilyn got
it all on her phone, hoping belatedly that neither of them was allergic to
bees. When one of the nasty little creatures stung her just above the elbow,
she stifled a scream and disappeared behind the building, fleeing through the
bushes on the other side. She was most of the way back to her car when Melvin
and Lizzie emerged, dripping, from the pond, green slime and particles clinging
to their clothing. Figuring that she’d had enough of an adventure for one day,
Marilyn headed home.

**

The
day after the beehive incident, Marilyn was sipping coffee in her usual
observation spot, down the street from Litigation Lizzie’s house, when a tap on
her window startled her badly enough to cause her to splash hot coffee all over
her pale yellow tank top. Jerking her head to the right, she saw
tall-dark-and-handsome Detective Bernard Cortland, standing there, looking into
the car.

“Hi,”
she smiled brightly, after rolling down the window, despite her annoyance at
the spilled coffee.

“Good
morning,” Bernard said casually. “What brings you here at this hour?” he asked,
glancing at his watch.

“Oh…uh…I
just…I’m enjoying some coffee in the shade before I head in to the shop,” she
flashed another smile.

“Mmmhmm…and
why have you been enjoying coffee in this particular spot all day, every day
this week?” the detective raised an eyebrow at her.

“Ummm…what?
I don’t understand…” she faltered.

Bernard
broke in before she could make something up. “We got a call from the neighbors,
complaining about a woman sitting in a car all day. When I ran the license plate
and saw that it was you, I came out myself, rather than sending a patrol car.
Wanna tell me what’s going on here, Marilyn?” he asked, peering at her over the
top of his Wayfarer sunglasses.

“No,”
she shook her head, not wanting to look at him.

“Are
you doing something illegal?” he probed.

“No!”
she exclaimed. “At least…I don’t think so.”

“Okay,
I’m going to have to ask you to find somewhere outside of this area to have
your morning coffee,” he directed, seeing that she wasn’t going to elaborate.

She
bit her lower lip, saying nothing, but giving him a pained look.

He
sighed, wishing that he didn’t have such a soft spot for the winsome pie shop
owner. “Are you in trouble, Marilyn?” he asked quietly.

“It’s
a long story, Bernard,” she frowned, wishing that she could enlist his help,
but knowing that there was little or nothing that he could do in a civil
matter.

“I
can only imagine,” the detective remarked dryly. “I’m not going to escort you
out of the neighborhood, but I can’t leave until you do, so…” he made a subtle
“move along” gesture by inclining his head.

“I’m
going, I’m going,” Marilyn sighed, putting her half-empty cup of coffee back
into the cup-holder, and turning on the ignition. “Thanks for not subjecting me
to the long arm of the law,” she smiled.

Bernard
inclined his head in acknowledgment, told her to have a good day, and went back
to his car. She watched him walk away in the rearview, and had a moment of
wondering what life would be like if she wasn’t so busy all the time.