A Secondhand Murder (19 page)

“
I called it in,” said the truck's passenger.

“
Who are you guys?”

“
Who are you?” the driver asked back. “Got any ID?”

I backed up a few steps. “You first.”

“
We're Drug Enforcement Agents. We got a tip that someone was out here waiting for a shipment of coke.”

“
If you're thinking that's me, you're wrong. Someone kidnapped me and left me here as alligator feed.”

The radio from inside the truck crackled. The passenger reached into the cab and took the call.

“
Headquarters got an alert from the state police. She's right. A woman was taken from outside a home in West Palm. Name of Eve Appel or Eve Taylor.”

“
That's me. I reached into my back pocket and extracted my license.

“
Connecticut, huh? Yep, she's the one.”

The driver kicked his boot into the dirt and swore. “Blew the whole damn deal. Might as well take her back. Nobody's gonna show now.”

Neither of the men said much as we traveled down the dirt road, which eased onto a gravel connector and eventually became pavement, just as I had suspected. From there we took I95 South and turned on an exit I was unfamiliar with. Several lefts and rights later, we drove up to a gray four-story building in a section of West Palm that looked more like a slum than the opulent east coast you see advertised in the Florida tourist brochures.

I walked through the front entrance of the building and into a small foyer. Its walls were painted the most depressing shade of green I had seen since science class in college. My driver, who had introduced himself as “Bud,” opened an inside door that led down a hallway and into a room filled with metal desks peopled by agents with the DEA insignia on the back of their jackets. Everyone looked up as I entered. No one greeted me, merely gave me the steady cop eye, the same cold dispassionate look worn by my two rescuers.

“
You can use the phone over there.” Bud gestured toward a desk piled high with papers.

“
Thanks. Uh, can I ask you something?”

He gave a miniscule nod of approval.

“
Did I do something wrong?”

“
You messed up a drug bust. We had been working on it for two months, then you came along and scared the guys off. Yeah, you could say you did something wrong.”

“
It wasn't my fault, you know.”

“
Find us the guy who dumped you out there and we'd be glad to transfer our pissed off feelings onto him.”

I thought better of trying to argue with him or his partner, who looked even more peeved. The rest of the agents didn't appear likely to be won over to my side, either. What a bunch of grumps. I could have died out there. I
would
have died out there.

I felt a shiver run down my spine but shook it off. So. Who to call? Alex, Grandy, Madeleine, Frida? As much as I wanted my friends to be assured of my safety, I needed Frida to get into the Sanders' house with a search warrant so that she could arrest the son-in-law for murder. Then there was my kidnapping. This seemed a matter of police importance. When I got her on the phone, Frida agreed.

“
Where are you? We heard that the authorities found you and that you are alive, but that's all.”

I told her the entire story, minus the part about breaking into the Sanders' house.

“
Sit tight. I'll get the warrant. I know a judge who stays up watching HGTV all hours of the night.”

“
That's great. How long before she can sign it?”

“
She? It's a he.”

“
Sorry.”

“
Well, his wife isn't. She loves the ideas he gets for decorating their house from
Design Now
. Think you can get someone to give you a lift back here?”

I looked around the room at the scowling faces. “No way.”

“
Right. I'll have Alex or Madeleine pick you up.”

“
Please don't send Madeleine. You know how she is. I might never get home.”

“
Alex it is then. Oh, by the way, is Bud around there?”

“
You want to talk with him?”

“
Nah, just tell him I said hi.”

I did, and his frown seemed to defrost a bit.

After I had hung up the phone, I told him that someone would be picking me up. He grunted and gestured toward a chair at an empty desk.

“
I could wait outside.” Where the climate wasn't so icy.

He laughed. I think it was a laugh, or perhaps he had some kind of throat condition that made him sound like a parrot on amphetamines.

“
Aaarugh, awk, awk. Did you take a look at the neighborhood we're in? The folks that live around here aren't fond of our enterprise. They'd jump at the chance to strip you naked, take your wallet and then, well, let's not even think about what would happen next. Even if we were to hear you yelling—on the off chance that someone cared enough to run outside to save you—we still couldn't get to you in time. Sit.”

I sat.

By the time Alex pushed through the door, the sun was coming up, and I was nodding off. There was a little drool on my shoulder.

Alex dashed over and gathered me up into his arms, slobber and all. “Hey, babe. Am I glad to see you. We were worried sick.”

I untangled my arms and legs from his embrace.

“
It took you long enough.” I tried to look angry, but I felt tears filling my eyes. Before I could do anything about it, I was bawling harder than I had since my steady, Mick Sawyer, broke up with me in the eighth grade.

“
You're with me and safe.” He pushed my hair back off my sweaty forehead and kissed it. “You smell kind of …”

“
What?”

“
Funky.”

“
Funky?”

“
Funky, like an auto repair shop and something else, maybe dead frogs.”

“
I was in a trunk, you know. A damn trunk. You have no idea.” I felt the need to tell him everything I had encountered since I had left the diner, a kind of catharsis of angst over the evening's events. Alex's sympathetic face loosened my tongue, but before I could say much, he stopped me.

“
Uh, I have bad news for you.”

I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “How bad can the news be? It can't be worse than my brush with headline news. You know, tomorrows
Post
could have read: ‘Bright, sexy entrepreneur nabbed and fed to swamp inhabitants.' ”

He shook his head. “Mr. Sanders called in your kidnapping.”

“
Not what I expected, but that was nice of him. Seems like the least he could do after dragging me out there.”

“
Maybe not. He told the cops that he saw Jerry hit you over the head and throw you into his trunk.”

“
I
don't see why I can't talk to Mr. Sanders. Jerry can't be the one who hit me and dumped me in the swamp. Sanders must be mistaken.”

Alex drove me back to the Sabal City Police Department. I sat across the desk from Frida. Her detecting buddy, Trevor Timble, was absent. I was glad for the privacy. Alex's presence didn't count. Apparently he was becoming a permanent fixture in my life, always showing up when bad things happened.

“
It's police business and the West Palm cops are covering it. They believe Sanders, and that's all there is to it. You stay out of it. I know you've been up to something. Why else would you have been at Sanders' house at that hour?”

I couldn't tell her that I had been trying to rescue Jerry, or even why Jerry needed rescuing. But I didn't believe that he was the one responsible for nabbing me. I would have known. I would have felt it.

“
I had to get another look at Sanders' son to be sure he was the one I saw in the parking lot on the day of Valerie's murder.”

“
Now, because you alerted him, we can't find the son. Why can't you let the cops do their work?” The pencil Frida was holding in her fingers snapped in two. I had pushed her too far.

“
I'm sorry. Sometimes I get carried away and don't think. It's my impulsive nature, I guess. Really. You're doing great work here.”

Frida picked up the two halves of the pencil and threw them into the trashcan. She took a moment to center herself and release the tension before speaking again. “You know you're making my job more difficult, don't you?” she said, her voice much calmer. “Please stay out of this. Take a break, a vacation or something. You've had a rough couple of days.”

“
Now there's a great idea.” Alex looked pleased. “A vacation.”

“
The shop—”

“
Madeleine can manage,” Alex broke in. “Maybe you could go to Key Largo with your Grandy when she returns. I'm sure she'd love to have you on the boat.”

“
That Jerry, trying to feed you to the alligators.” Grandy shook her curls. It was the next morning, and she was piloting her SUV south on the Florida Turnpike.

“
You don't believe that, do you?”

“
He's a bad boy, but, no, he wouldn't do that. I do think there's something fishy about Sanders' story. It looks like Valerie married into a family as bad as her own.”

“
It's more likely that Sanders sent his stepson after me because I had placed him at the crime scene. But that seems kind of crazy, too. Unless he wanted his wife dead for some reason. This murder is making me nuts.” I leaned against the window and watched as we rushed past the stucco walls of wealthy homes.

“
The cops are looking for both Jerry and Sanders' son. How long can they hide?” Grandy set the cruise control and rested one hand on the wheel, the other on her knee.

My cell played its tune. It was Frida.

“
Tell your Grandy she was right,” Frida said when I picked up the phone.

“
About what?”

“
We executed the search warrant for the Sanders' house. She'll know what I mean.” The line disconnected.

“
Frida says you were right. About what?”

“
That knife. I got a good look at the set of knives when we entered the Sanders' house.”

“
Yeah, I remember. I thought you were going to kiss them, you were so close.”

“
One didn't match. It looked like it did, at first, but it was much cheaper. I think that was the one from your shop. Someone must have placed it there in case the cops came looking for an incomplete set. I've got a good eye for cutlery, and I know the wealthy would never consider buying anything but the best. Carbon steel. One of them was stainless. Now all they need to do is compare the murder weapon in the evidence locker to the Sanders' carbon steel knives.”

I slapped my knee. “Ha! I knew there was something different about the murder weapon, and that if I could just get into that house to look at those knives, well, something would click. It did.”

Grandy glanced at me. “Honey, something clicked for me, not you.”

“
Me. You. Whatever. You didn't tell Frida how you knew all this?”

Grandy chuckled. “I told her I found out from one of the Sanders' help, and that I had to keep my source anonymous or the person could get fired. Frida doesn't need to know the details. The cops are looking at the real evidence now.”

“
You're so smart.” I reached over and patted her arm.

“
Well, you are too, in a way. It was dumb of you to go back to the house for another peek at the stepson, but your ability to identify him led to the search warrant. The knife clinched the deal. Now he's wanted for murder.”

“
Frida said he wouldn't have run if I hadn't showed up on the doorstep.”

“
Maybe,” said Grandy. “Stop for a bite?” We flew by a sign announcing a rest area ahead.

“
Let's just get to Key Largo. I want to sit on the boat's deck and soak up the sunshine.”

For the first time since Valerie's murder, I felt at peace. Well, almost. Jerry's role in all this bothered me. After leaving Frida last night, I had taken a quick look at the papers he had thrown to me. Based on what I'd read so far, Jerry had sold me out again. This morning I had tucked them into my overnight bag, vowing to find time to examine them in more detail once we got to Key Largo.

The boat was riding up and down on her lines and the rain was slashing at the windows in the galley. You could get quite comfortable inside if you had the stomach for rolling and pitching. I did. Our family had always owned some kind of boat, motor or sail, and I was used to rough weather on any vessel, as long as it was bigger than an inner tube.

Max was up on deck making sure that the lines were secure so that we could leave for dinner.

“
Sorry about this weather, dearie,” said Grandy. “I guess you won't be getting a tan this weekend.”

Record cold was being predicted for tomorrow. I had managed to select one of the Key's few chilly weekends for my vacation. I didn't care about cold, wind and rain. I just welcomed being surrounded by people I loved and who felt the same about me. Not that Madeleine and I didn't love each other. We were the best of friends, almost like sisters, but Grandy had been there all my life, through some very tough periods.