A Secondhand Murder (24 page)

He drew me closer, putting his arms around my waist. His citrusy aftershave encircled my head. It was the smell of money with a hint of social climbing thrown in. “You're as interesting as your grandmother. If I was a younger man, I'd give Alex some competition.” He touched my forehead with his lips. “You worry too much, Eve Appel. I said I'd work something out. Now you must trust me.”

He walked toward his car but stopped before he opened the door. “Tell Jerry it's safe to come out of hiding. I think Mr. Sanders will recognize rather quickly that he mistakenly identified Jerry as your kidnapper. I'll bet he calls the authorities before morning and tells them so.”

“
How do you know I can get in touch with Jerry?”

“
He'll be in touch with you, and this time he won't be dressed in drag.”

Foolish me. Of course, Napolitani would know that Jerry and I had been in touch.

“
Why would Jerry trust me?”

“
If I was on the lam, you're the one I'd trust.”

I smiled as I watched his taillights disappear into the sultry tropical night. Nappi Napolitani was an angel. I knew he'd rescue Jerry and Grandy. Somehow. I'd leave the dealing to him.

“
Well, well. I knew you went for bad boys, but that's scary, even for you.” Alex stood on the porch, arms crossed in front of his chest. There was little warmth in his eyes now.

T
he door to the Sanders' house opened, and Grandy and Max walked out. I hugged both of them and told them to be careful on their drive back to the boat. Eduardo's threats about getting the locket made me uneasy. As for Constance, well, I thought the Sanders should have her locked up. The gene pool in these intertwined families was shallow and murky.

Although Grandy gave Alex a kiss on the cheek, she offered me nothing but pointed looks. Alex ignored me. I watched Grandy's car pull out of the drive and felt tears threaten to spill out. If anything happened to her or Max because of the Sanders family, I'd, I'd … I didn't know what I'd do, but the use of guns, spurs, knives, and ropes wouldn't be out of the question. I had friends who could loan me those items.

I thought about hanging around until Cory and Randolph Burnside left. Maybe I could waylay them for more information, but I couldn't think of what to ask. Randolph's smarmy manner also put me off. Even if they knew anything of value, I'd much prefer cornering Cory at home alone on her pool deck, a shot of their good scotch in my hand.

Alex, his back against his car, was staring at the night sky.

“
Okay, look. I can't help it if Napolitani likes me.”

“
Of course not. You're such a babe.” His tone was far from light. “You seem to like him just fine. Your Grandy is right. You go for the bad boys, don't you?”

“
If I went for you, I'd be going for what? The good guys? I don't think so.” I'd had about enough of Alex playing the angel. There was something he wasn't telling any of us. Time to get to the bottom of this.

“
I've heard you refer to Mr. Sanders as ‘Leon.' Sounds like you're not just some private eye he happened to hire.”

Alex slammed his hand hard against the car door. It must have hurt like hell, but when I saw his face, I knew that what he was about to tell me would hurt me even more.

“
I was kind of like a cousin to Valerie.” He put his hand on the door handle, as if he might want to make a quick getaway.

I remained cool. I was so frosty, in fact, that the evening air temp dropped at least ten degrees.

“
Cousin Alex then. Where'd you get that PI card? Find it in the trash somewhere? Order the ID over the Internet?”

“
I
am
a private eye. When Leon found out that Valerie was sneaking jewelry out of the house, he wanted to minimize the fallout by keeping it in the family. He hired me to do the job.”

“
Then you got too cozy with me and he backed off, thinking he'd deal with the missing jewelry in some other manner.”

“
Right.”

“
Do you know what he meant to do?”

“
No.”

“
Do you think he has any idea how to handle this?”

Alex said nothing.

I pushed a little further. “Even after Valerie was killed, Mr. Sanders thought he could keep the issue of the missing jewels in the family. It's all about family with them, isn't it? Sanders may be delusional enough to believe that Valerie's actions had nothing to do with her death. Do you believe that?”

Alex ran his hands through his hair. “The pawning of the jewels and her death have to be related, but I don't see how. Do you?”

“
I haven't a clue.” I was lying a little.

Grandy called me at home later that night to tell me that she and Max were back on their boat. “See, honey? Nothing to worry about. That Argentinean Lothario was simply showing off in front of his father-in-law,”

“
Maybe. You keep a look-out.” I wished them good fishing for the remainder of the week and then fell into bed, exhausted.

At the store the next morning, I got Madeleine up to speed on the events of the previous night. We were sorting through some clothing that had been on the racks since we first opened, marking them down ten percent to boost sales. When we finished, I put a SALE sign out front and opened the store. The bell, which we had replaced after our unidentified visitor smashed it, rang. Good, a customer. It was not even five minutes past ten. I looked up and groaned. Mavis Worthington, our gadfly lady-journalist, entered the shop.

She hadn't been back since the day of the murder, when I let her take home some items on approval. She had her daughter return them all later. Mavis was that tight with her money. I followed my groan with a sigh of resignation. She also liked to talk and talk and talk.

Madeleine must have seen the expression on my face.

“
I'll get this one. You go ahead and inventory the items that were dropped off yesterday. Some are from the coast.” She put on her entrepreneur's face and beelined toward Mavis. I hid in the back room, keeping busy with my inventory project.

Several minutes passed. Madeleine stuck her head through the doorway. “Mavis wants to talk with both of us.”

I screwed up my face and set my work aside.

“
I'm coming.” I joined them in front of the jewelry counter.

“
I thought I'd stop by to see how business is going. Not well, I gather.” She looked around the empty shop. “You two don't know much about marketing.”

I turned my head away from Mavis so she couldn't see me roll my eyes.

“
Oh, Mavis,” said Madeleine, “we'd appreciate your input. You know this town so well.”

Thank God for Madeleine's social savvy. She knew what to say, and I knew when to keep my sassy mouth shut. Sometimes.

Mavis smiled and gave Madeleine a pat on the shoulder. “You should consider advertising on our local country radio station. That's what most folks around here listen to, you know.”

Madeleine and I had discussed that possibility just last week. I nodded in agreement as did Madeleine.

“
Get Slim, the morning DJ, to do a broadcast from here.”

Also smart.

Then came the kicker.

“
And take out a full page ad in the magazine,
Around Town
.”

Ah, yes, the one Mavis wrote for.

“
We don't have the money to do that,” I said.

“
I'll make you a deal. You give me my choice of duds, and I'll cut the cost by fifty percent.”

Madeleine and I exchanged glances.

“
We'll consider your offer and get back to you,” I said.

“
Great, but don't wait too long. Especially if you want to be in this month's issue. It'd be best to get in there before the snow birds go back north.”

Mavis looked around at the merchandise for a few minutes longer, then waved goodbye and left.

“
What do you think?” Madeleine sounded dubious.

Before I could answer, Mavis stuck her head back into the shop.

“
Oh, and another word of advice ... I know you like having the West Palm patrons in the store to class things up, but when they come in reeking of eau de pony, it adds nothing to the upscale ambience you are trying to create. People around here get enough of that smell in their own backyards. They clean up to go shopping, you know. Those women from the coast like to shove it at us farmers, wearing their fancy riding boots and duds, like they couldn't be bothered to change them before going slumming. Showing off their money, that's all. As if their sweat was more expensive than ours.”

“
What do you mean?” I asked.

“
Didn't you smell them? The day of the murder? The woman who was stabbed and the other one who walked by me right after the victim went into the dressing room. They smelled ripe from the stables.”

“
You've got quite a nose,” said Madeleine.

“
I was close enough to them. The second one shoved me out of the way when she marched into the dressing room.”

“
Maybe the smell came from your boots.” I looked down at them.

Oops
. Me and my big mouth. Mavis shot me a look that said she'd like to rope and tie me like a yearling calf.

“
My momma raised me right. I wipe my boots before I come inside.” She lifted her foot and showed us the sole. It was clean. “It was more than manure on their boots. It was the smell a rider gets from being on a horse. You can change clothes, but if you don't take a shower, that pony smell stays with you. They were wearing it like it was designer cologne.”

“
What did the woman who pushed you aside look like?” Maybe I could get a description of the killer.

“
Like every other rich bitch from the coast who thinks she's slumming in Sabal Bay. Designer jeans, a western shirt from Saks and sunglasses large enough to cover her entire head. Those expensive hoity-toity riding boots.” She turned and left the store.

Hmmm. For once, I found Mavis useful. She hit on something I'd been playing around with for a few days. I shared my thoughts with Madeleine.

“
You've been thinking about pony poop? What for?”

“
Never mind for now.” I walked to the front of the shop and stared out the window. What had Alex said about Valerie when he was shadowing her? She stopped by pawnshops and then either went to lunch or to the stables. That must have been her last stop before she came into the shop, where she picked up the aroma of horse and where her killer might have done the same. Maybe Dwight wasn't the murderer. Who then?

“
What do you know about polo ponies?”

“
Nothing.” Madeleine shrugged. “Lots of people around here are horse experts. Horses, ponies, what's the difference?”

“
There's a big difference.” Madeleine and I were seated with Rob Cassidy at the Burnt Biscuit, drinking cold drafts. It was Karaoke night and a narrow-hipped cowboy with brown eyes and a white straw hat was singing “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off” and doing a damn great job of it. His voice wrapped around my head. I felt like my shirt and jeans might hit the barroom floor soon, no matter how little I drank, as long as he was singing.

“
Pay attention, Eve,” said Madeleine. “Rob says polo ponies aren't horses.”

“
Hmmm? They aren't? Well, they're certainly not cows.”

Rob reached out and touched my arm. “Honey, I deal in cow ponies and working horses, not horses trained to chase a ball around a playing field.”

The cowboy finished his song and left the stage echoing with the applause of every woman in the bar.

“
Encore!” I shouted. The singer smiled in my direction and shook his head. I waved him over.

He tipped his hat to Madeleine and me and shook hands with Rob.

“
For now I'll let somebody else get up there and sweat. I'll do another one later.”

Rob introduced Madeleine and me to the cowboy vocalist. “Antoine Slater, not only a great singing talent, but the best bronc rider in this county. Tell these gals about horses. They don't know the eating end from the kicking end or a cow pony from a thoroughbred.”

Antoine and Rob spent the next hour telling us about horses, bloodlines, and what each breed did best. It was more than I wanted to know but enough to convince me that these cowboys were just what I needed to trap a killer. Of course, I had to persuade them of that.

I was in the middle of outlining what I had in mind when we were joined by someone I wasn't eager to see. Well, maybe I wanted to see him again. Just not at that moment.

“
What did I just hear? Eve's trying to get you to buy into a string of polo ponies?” Alex tilted his head in my direction.

“
That's what you get for eavesdropping. Not the true story, and none of your business.”

Rob gave Alex the up and down, who-the-hell-are-you look. “This guy a friend of yours?”