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

“Hi
Bernard, would you like some pie?” Marilyn asked the grim-faced detective.

“No,
thanks. I’m here on business, I’m afraid. Is there somewhere that we can talk?”
he asked, his face and tone giving nothing away.

“Sure,”
she nodded. “Follow me,” she invited, heading back to her office. Once inside,
she shut the door, settling into her leather executive chair and indicating a
club chair for the detective.

“I’m
glad you dropped by. Tiara and I found out some things that may be of interest
in the murder of my ex-husband’s client,” she began, but Bernard held up a hand
to stop her.

“We’ll
get to that in a bit,” he said, somewhat brusquely. “But that’s not why I’m
here.”

“Oh?”
Marilyn was nonplussed. “Okay then, what’s going on?”

“Are
you acquainted with a woman named Elizabeth Melman?” he asked, taking out his
notebook.

“Oh
come on, Detective,” Marilyn made a face. “I know that you do your homework
better than that. You know as well as I do that I’m involved in a lawsuit with
Litigation Lizzie,” she scoffed. “Why do you ask?”

“Because
she was found murdered this morning,” Bernard dropped a bombshell.

“What?”
Marilyn was shocked. “But I just saw her this morning!” she exclaimed,
realizing after the fact how bad that must make her sound.

“Did
you?” his hawk-like eyes nailed her to the chair. “How and when did you have occasion
to see Ms. Melman this morning?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Marilyn
related her surveillance activities and showed him the video, both of the bee
incident, and the hanging up of the laundry.

“Why
didn’t you tell me the truth when I approached you in her neighborhood last
week?” he asked.

“Because
spying on people is illegal, isn’t it? And anyway, I wasn’t hurting anything, I
was just sitting in my car,” she shrugged, trying desperately to rationalize
and justify.

“I’d
say that causing two people to be attacked by a hive of agitated bees
constitutes assault, at the very least,” he pointed out, drilling her with his
gaze.

“Okay,
fine. I admit, that certainly wasn’t my best moment, but that’s been the extent
of my involvement with Litigation Lizzie since I received the notice of the
lawsuit. Her rude, nasty nephew did come into the store and say some vile
things though.”

“What
did he say?” the detective inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“He
said that my shop was a dump, and that his aunt’s accident was caused because I
didn’t maintain it well, things like that. He was quite ugly about it, so I
told him to leave and never come back.”

“Did
he?”

“Did
he what?” Marilyn asked, confused.

“Did
he leave and then not come back?” Cortland clarified.

“Oh!
Yes, yes he did,” she nodded.

“Did
you see him at any point after that interaction?”

“Only
when they went to the park.”

“I
see. And how long ago did he come into the store and say rude things to you?”

“Sometime
last week, I don’t remember which day exactly,” Marilyn replied, frowning.

“Did
anyone witness the interaction?” Bernard asked.

“No,
but Trudy, from the diner, came in just as he was leaving. She’s the one who
told me about what Lizzie does to local business owners.”

The
detective asked a few more questions, then Marilyn told him about what she and
Tiara had discovered concerning Daniel and Brad.

Cortland
nodded. “I looked into Daniel’s business transactions as well, and it seems
that he’s handled more than his share of shady transactions. Some of his
“clients” are folks with whom he shouldn’t be involved. I’m still looking into
it, but the insight that you and your daughter have provided is most
appreciated,” he gave her a brief, professional smile.

“I
hope it helps…in one way or another,” Marilyn said, rather wistfully.

“I’ll
check back with you if I need clarification on anything,” the detective
replied, snapping his notebook shut and standing to go.

“I’ll
walk you out,” she said, feeling oddly drained and defeated.

Marilyn
was restless and melancholy, wandering around her quiet little house with
Fluffy following at her heels, mewing her support. Unable to focus or
concentrate on even accomplishing something as simple as unloading the
dishwasher, she decided to go for a walk, hoping that the fresh ocean breeze
would soothe her troubled spirit. Stuffing her license and credit card into the
front pocket of her capris in case she might want to stop off in one of the
local bars for a drink, she stepped out into the balmy night, dejected and
alone.

Heading
toward the beach, her refuge in times of trouble, she strolled slowly, taking
comfort in the soft breeze sighing through the palms, and the faint scent of
tropical flowers. A small lizard skittered across her path and she slowed so as
not to disturb its progress. Yet, even in the tranquility of a perfect Key West
night, she couldn’t find peace from the thoughts that tormented her with the
relentless circles that they traveled in her brain. She wondered if her
ex-husband might actually be a murderer, and if he was, how it would impact her
beloved Tiara. There had been so many strange occurrences in Marilyn’s life
since she opened her own business in Key West, that it made her question
whether the universe might be trying to tell her something. There had been so
much tragedy and so much pain, and she’d been on the fringes of it all. Maybe
she was cursed. Maybe everyone would be better off if she just disappeared.

Making
a conscious effort to dismiss that particular “pity party” train of thought,
Marilyn gave herself a mental shake and tried to focus on the positives in her life.
Business was going well, she and Tiara had made amends and were fine with each
other, after their initial tiff over Daniel’s possible guilt, and she had her
health, her home, and a measure of financial security for the first time in her
single adult life. So why on earth couldn’t she shake her despondency? She’d
always told her daughter that happiness was a choice that was made every day,
yet she couldn’t seem to stick to her own advice.

A
faint sound behind her broke Marilyn’s train of thought, and made the hairs on
the back of her neck stand up. Taking her hand and smoothing them down, she
turned slowly, expecting to see someone closing in on her. She stood for a
moment, surveying the neighborhood, seeing nothing but neatly trimmed lawns
adorned with swaying palms, dangerous-looking palmettos, and ornamental grasses
of every stripe, fluttering gently in the breeze.

“I’m
just really rattled tonight,” she said softly, turning to resume her walk. “It
was probably a squirrel or something.”

A
quick movement on her left made her heart leap to her throat and she sucked in
a harsh gasp of air as a fat orange cat shot out in front of her and crossed
the street, disappearing under a parked car.

“Well,
I guess that answers that question,” she smiled faintly with relief and
chagrin, her heart still thumping madly.

She
turned right at the corner, headed for the beach access, and noted that there
were several streetlamps that were out of commission. Frowning, she switched
the flashlight app on her phone on, dimmed it a couple of notches, and pointed
it at the ground to light her path. It was more than unusual to see that type
of neglect on an island that took tremendous pride in the serene beauty of its
businesses, beaches and neighborhoods. She heard another sound, and whirled
around, her flashlight revealing the lurking presence of Melvin Bland,
Litigation Lizzie’s nephew, about six feet behind her and closing fast.

“What
do you want?” she demanded, instantly on guard, and wishing that she’d thought
to bring her pepper spray keychain.

“Thought
you’d get away with it, didn’t you?” he sneered, coming closer as Marilyn
unconsciously backed away, her flashlight shining in his eyes.

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’d better just leave right now,”
she ordered, with far more confidence than she felt.

“Do
you actually think that you’re in control of this situation?” he asked with a
sinister chuckle. “It seems to me that I have the upper hand here…how does that
feel?” Melvin stepped closer, his yellow teeth evident in his tight grin.

Marilyn
could smell alcohol on his breath, and her heart pounded so hard that she was
certain he could hear it. Her scalp tingled with fear, and she continued to
back away slowly, her knees shaking. In the distance, a dog barked, and she
hoped against hope that its owner might look out of their window and intervene,
but so far, the only other sound in the night was the rasp of his breathing as
he advanced toward her. Security lights flipped on in a yard that they passed,
and both of them flinched when a figure popped out between two clumps of sea
grasses. Marilyn had never been so glad to see Tim Eckels in her entire life.

“Control
is often an illusion,” the former mortician said cryptically, his coke-bottle
gaze fixed upon Melvin Bland.

“What’s
it to you, Lurch?” Melvin challenged nastily.

Tim
pushed his weighty glasses up his nose and stared at him, one eye twitching
slightly. “Alcohol can make you feel safe when you really aren’t,” he cocked
his head to the side, blinking rapidly.

“Is
that a threat?” Melvin’s beady eyes narrowed, as though he were sizing up his
strange opponent.

“Merely
a factual observation,” Tim replied mildly.

Marilyn
decided it was time to break in. “Look, Mr. Bland, I don’t know what you’re
doing out here, and I really don’t care, but you need to go away and leave me
alone,” she commanded, feeling much better, but still not out of the woods,
because of her neighbor’s presence.

“Don’t
you even think about telling me what to do,” Melvin hissed, stepping toward
her.

Tim
moved faster than Marilyn had ever seen him do, and inserted himself firmly
between her and the aggressor, facing Melvin.

“Go
home please, Marilyn,” he said calmly, never taking his eyes off of Melvin
Bland.

Thankful
for his intervention, but now worried about her neighbor, Marilyn took off for
home at a fast trot, dialing Bernard’s number as she went.

Marilyn
went next door with a freshly made Key Lime pie, and knocked on the mahogany
carved door tentatively. Tim opened it immediately, as though he’d been
standing on the other side of it, watching her approach. When she’d asked
Detective Cortland this morning about what had happened between the two men
after she left, he’d said that Melvin Bland denied ever having left his aunt’s
house, and Tim had given some obscure statement about the nature of fairness in
the universe.

“Hello,”
she said, trying out a smile when he opened the door. “I just wanted to thank
you for helping me last night,” she offered up the pie.

He
looked at it without interest and then looked back at Marilyn. “He was at your
house. He followed you. I followed him. After you left, he tried to go to your
shop. I had to…have a discussion with him again,” he blinked in his owlish way.

“He
tried to go to my shop last night? Why would he do that?” she asked, not
expecting an answer.

“Why
isn’t important,” Tim muttered, staring at the pie.

Marilyn
nodded, accustomed to her neighbor’s strange, stilted remarks. “Right. Why he
went doesn’t matter, it’s the fact that he went that’s significant,” she
agreed, thinking.

“My
grandmother’s was better,” he murmured, still fixated on the pie.

“I’m
sure it was, Tim,” she sighed, realizing that any helpful conversation was
over. “Do you want it anyway?” she asked.

Saying
nothing, he reached out, took the pie, and disappeared inside, closing the
door.

As
she crossed the grass and stepped onto her own driveway, Marilyn’s cell phone
rang and she saw Tiara’s photo on her screen.

“Hey
sweetie,” she answered. “What’s up?”

There
was a moment of hesitation, and Marilyn heard shouting and the crash of dishes
in the background. “Tiara!” she said, alarmed. “What’s going on?”

“Mom…I
think you’d better get down to the store as soon as you can,” she said
hurriedly, and the connection was broken.

When
Marilyn drove around the corner of the block on which her shop was located, she
saw two patrol cars and Bernard’s unmarked unit out front. Pulling in directly
behind them, she practically leaped from her car and ran for the front door.
She opened it and saw utter chaos in front of her – pies, cookies, tarts and
pastries were strewn, smashed and smeared from one end of the shop to the
other, tables and chairs had been overturned, and two of the largest display
cases had been shattered. A bleeding Melvin Bland stood on top of the front
counter, brandishing a plate-sized shard of glass, while officers stood
encircling him, with Bernard directly in front.

“YOU!”
he screamed, pointing the glass at Marilyn when she came in. “You killed my
Auntie Liz!” he cried, his face twisted in a deranged parody of grief.

Bernard
turned to face Marilyn, while still keeping a peripheral eye on the madman in
front of him.

“I
did nothing of the sort,” she retorted, furious at the havoc that he’d wreaked
in her cozy little shop.

“Yes,
you did!” Melvin stomped his foot on the counter for emphasis. “First she hurt
herself in your dumpy store and then you killed her instead of paying her the
money that she deserved, but you’re not going to get away with it,” he seethed,
shaking the glass at her. “I’m going to make sure that you pay every penny that
she should’ve gotten, you witch!” he screamed, red-faced, spittle flying from
his mouth.

“You
need to leave and let us handle this,” Bernard counseled quietly.

“Where
is Tiara?” Marilyn asked, worried for her daughter’s safety. “Are she and
Kelcie safe?”

The
detective nodded. “Your daughter and assistant locked themselves in the office
and called us when he came in and started tearing things up. Please, if you’d
like to check on them, go in the back way, I have officers back there, but I
really need you to leave this area right now,” he insisted, glancing back and
forth between Marilyn and Melvin.

Suddenly,
the front counter snapped with a resounding crack that sounded like lightning
striking a mighty oak, and the entire thing collapsed into a heap with Melvin
in the middle of it. The officers who had been standing behind the ranting man,
used the opportunity to seize him, making sure to grab his wrist, taking away
the effectiveness of the glass that he’d intended to use as a weapon. Marilyn
dashed around the melee, heading for the office to check on Tiara and Kelcie.

“Girls?
It’s okay, the police have him in custody,” she called through the door, then
heard a click as Tiara unlocked it and let her in. Sharing a group hug with the
girls, Marilyn’s thin veil of toughness crumbled and she burst into tears.

“Mom,
it’s okay,” Tiara assured her, leading her to the desk chair. “We’re not hurt,
we just kind of freaked out and wanted to get away from that dude – he seems a
little crazy.” Kelcie nodded her agreement, both of them looking at her with
concern.

“I
know, I’m sorry. It’s just that everything is going wrong, and now there’s this
big mess and we might lose this business, and I’m just so tired of dealing with
drama,” she sobbed, feeling like an idiot.

“
I’m
going to go get her some water
,” Kelcie mouthed to Tiara over her mother’s
head, and slipped out the door, returning in short order with a glass of ice
water.

“Thank
you,” Marilyn sniffled, leaning her head on her hand.

“What
was his problem, anyway?” Tiara frowned.

“He
thinks that I killed his aunt,” her mother replied, shaking her head.