Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (18 page)

Phyllis’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Dammit. It’s been over a year, and she can’t seem to move on. She needs to find a man and start her own life instead of living in the dregs of her father’s. Every spare penny she has goes toward upkeep on that.” She pointed at the bobbing sailboat.

“Tell you what. I’ve had a couple of people asking about the
Miss Adventure
. She’s a handsome sailboat. I’ll get some offers and take them to Angela. She may not heed them at first, but it’ll plant the idea she could be free of the upkeep, earn a little nest egg, and maybe start anew.”

Phyllis put her hand on Arley’s arm. The potential for a bad argument had blown away with the wind. “Thanks, Arley. We both have her best interest at heart. I just got offtrack a little.”

They turned and saw us standing there. Phyllis had the courtesy to show a sheepish grin, but Arley McCain was all bluster.

“What’re you eavesdroppin’ on us for?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

“Angela hired the tall one. She’s a private investigator,” Phyllis explained. “Angela is still trying to prove Larry is innocent.”

“And this is my partner, Tinkie Bellcase Richmond.” I made the introductions. “Mr. McCain, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Do it now, Arley, or they’ll dog you to your grave.” Phyllis took the sting out with a pat on my shoulder. “They’re good folks. Help them if you can.”

“The murder case that would never die.” He shot a look at Phyllis. “If I sell the boat, maybe all of this will finally stop.”

“Maybe,” she called over her shoulder. “But we need to sell the boat for Angela’s sake. Nothing else.”

Arley made a growling sound and waved her away, but he was smiling. He was obviously fond of the biologist even if they didn’t see eye to eye.

“Ladies, come into my office.” He whipped around and headed for a low wooden building not far from the marina. Tinkie and I followed. She cast a lingering look at the
Miss Adventure
and whispered to me, “She’s a real beauty. I know some people who might be interested in buying her, too.”

“That’s a discussion to have with Angela. She has to want to sell the boat.”

There was no time for more conversation as Arley held the door open and waved us into an office whose décor surprised me. I’d expected a seafaring theme, but Arley was apparently an avid golfer. All things Tiger Woods. There was even a putting game taking up half the floor space. Boys and their toys, as the old saying went. I did recognize one of John Trotter’s unusual paintings on his wall.

“There’s not much I can tell you about John’s murder,” Arley said before we’d sat down in the wooden chairs he indicated. “When I saw Larry Wofford coming off John’s boat, covered in blood, I called the cops. They came, took Larry, and the next thing I knew, Larry was charged. End of story. That’s what I testified to at the trial.”

“What about the security cameras?” I indicated the recorder in a corner of a bookcase. “I see it goes straight to CD.”

“Yeah, that’s a strange one. The CDs were blank. I checked the cameras and the equipment. They worked fine. Might have been a loose wire, or maybe someone turned them off. The stranger Wofford said he saw.”

“Did you check the CDs yourself?”

“Randy did. He’s the one called and told me.”

“Did you hear a gunshot?”

“I didn’t,” Arley said. He blustered a bit. “It was a stormy night. The gunshot could have been covered by thunder.”

“Or it could have been the killer used a silencer.” I let that sink in. “Which would mean John’s death was premeditated. Which rules out Wofford killed John Trotter in a drunken rage.”

“What sent you out on the dock so late at night?” Tinkie followed up before Arley could regain his equilibrium. Tinkie and I often made an effective tag team in questioning.

Arley tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “I heard a sound. Not a gunshot. I can’t put my finger on it. But I heard something that made me decide to check the boats.”

Tinkie tranced him with her big blue eyes. “What would be out of the ordinary?”

“I never said it was out of the ordinary.” He grumped. “A sound caught my attention, and I went out to check. Only John and Larry were living on their boats. I gave them a break on the rental because I enjoyed having them around. Cut down on a lot of teenage mischief.”

“Had you been troubled by mischief?” I asked.

“I’d sent another boater packing. Troublemaker. Always stirring up shit with everyone who came to the marina.”

“Who?” I had my pencil poised.

“Remy Renault.”

“Wait a minute. He was docked here.”

“For a month or so. He and John stayed at each other’s throats. John thought Remy was following him whenever he took his sailboat out. There was a bit of a scuffle over Phyllis Norris, too. She was John’s girl, but Remy pursued her. Bad blood.”

“So Remy knew his way around the marina?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice.

“He did.”

“Would he have known how to disable the camera?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you ever hear him talk about Lydia Clampett?”

Arley shook his head. “He had a few girlfriends who’d go sailing with him. Nobody stayed around too long. Bad-tempered ass.”

Tinkie put a question to him. “Did you ever think Renault might have slipped back to the marina to settle a disagreement permanently with John?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Arley said. “But I didn’t see him that night.”

“You also didn’t hear the gunshot.” Tinkie bit her lip, and Arley watched her with fascination. When her lip popped out, he slapped his leg.

“I remember what I thought I heard—a boat motor. Nobody would have taken a sailboat out in that weather with lightning popping. It had to be an outboard. But that didn’t make sense, so I went to check. When I looked around, I didn’t see anything. I thought I’d imagined it.”

“Could you have missed the boat?” A clear memory of the powerboat tied to the dock beside Remy Renault’s sailboat came to mind. I’d share this tidbit with Tinkie later.

He considered. “
If
someone was leaving.
If
he’d parked behind some of the bigger ships.
If
he was running without any lights. Yeah, I might have missed it. The rain was coming down hard, hitting the dock and water. Bad visibility and lots of noise.”

“Thank you, Arley. One more thing. Larry insists he saw someone in a yellow slicker. What were you wearing that evening?” Like it or not, Arley had been on the scene of the murder, and he fit Wofford’s description of broad-shouldered.

“I had on a slicker. A blue one. I don’t own a yellow one. And I don’t like what you’re gettin’ at.”

“Chavis never asked you these questions?” Tinkie used a gentle voice.

“Asked and answered. I was apologizing to my wife at the time John was shot. The law checked the phone records. Told her I was on my way home. Then I heard the noise and went to check. When I saw Wofford looking like he’d been in a blood bath, I called the law. That’s how it happened.”

“Why were you working so late?”

He looked a bit uncomfortable. “The wife and I had a disagreement. I’d come up here to simmer down.” He shrugged. “It happens in a marriage.”

“Do you think Wofford killed John Trotter?” Tinkie asked.

“Larry isn’t the violent type, but he was drinking pretty hard.” He tilted his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe it, but who else could it be? I’ve known Randy Chavis most of his life. He’s got a chip on his shoulder, but he’s a good cop. Why would he go along with framing Larry?”

“Maybe Wofford served a purpose as a scapegoat.”

Arley’s heavy brow wrinkled. “That’s a vile accusation, Ms. Delaney.”

“Murder is a vile act, Mr. McCain. Framing an innocent man is even worse in some respects. If Wofford is innocent, he’s lost more than a year of his life being punished for something he didn’t do.”

“Do you have evidence that supports this claim?”

“Not yet,” I admitted.

“It doesn’t make sense to pin this on Larry. He never did a lick of harm to anyone but himself.”

“To protect the real killer,” Tinkie said.

“They never found the murder weapon,” I pointed out. “Just suppose that Larry Wofford told you the truth—that he went to see John and found him dying. That he tried to staunch the flow of blood and that’s how he got John’s blood all over him.”

Arley was clearly worried by the train of thought I’d given him. “Randy wouldn’t change evidence or lie.”

“Not even for a king’s ransom in treasure?” Tinkie asked.

Arley got up and paced the room. He went from his trophy case that displayed golfing figures to the back wall, where maritime charts had been hung and framed. “Randy’s had to deal with the locals and drunks here for his entire life. They view him as a traitor because he’s a law officer. His patience is a little short, but he wouldn’t do anything illegal.”

“Then who would?” I asked.

Arley took his time answering. “I’ve never had a lot of respect for the sheriff. He’s a politician. John’s murder was a big case. National news. Benson was running for reelection, and he had a strong rival. He needed to solve the murder and quickly. If anyone threw Wofford under the bus, it would be him.”

“Did John tell you about the treasure?”

“Hell, he might as well have taken out an ad. I told him to hush. If he really did know where it was, he should have shut up until he had it in his possession. Lots of folks will jump a claim. The thing is, though, about three times a year, John would get all wound up about claiming the treasure, and it never came to anything. Folks just got to the point they didn’t pay a lot of attention anymore.”

“Angela says this time was different. That John really had hold of a clue.”

“He was wound tight about the treasure, that’s for sure. He might have drawn some interest from folks who thought he’d hit on something solid. I know Remy had plenty to say about what he called John’s ‘fantasy treasure.’ Remy was jealous of John.”

“Anyone else come to mind?” Tinkie asked.

His eyes widened. “Yeah. A guy by the name of Prevatt. He runs a museum. John told me that Prevatt tried to force John into taking him as a partner in the treasure hunt. John didn’t like the man and would have no part of it. Prevatt insisted. It got nasty. That’s all I know, and that’s gossip. John and that museum fellow had a feud going over other things.”

“Did you mention this to anyone when they were investigating John’s murder?”

“I did. Told Randy Chavis. He made a note and said he’d follow it up.”

“Thanks, Arley.” We’d gotten what we came for and more.

“If you see Angela, tell her to come and talk to me about the approaching storm. The time to make preparations is now.”

“Will do,” I assured him.

16

My reluctance to return to the cottage led us to a bird sanctuary on the island. A large wooden plaque showed several nature trails and informed visitors that Dr. Phyllis Norris had marked the trails with the names of trees and plants and donated a substantial amount of money to create the preserve. Phyllis not only talked the talk, she walked the walk.

The oak trees created an intimate space, the sun blasting like shotgun pellets through the wind-whipped leaves. Once we were out of the car and leaning against the hood, we were surrounded by birdcalls and the gentle sounds of nature. Clouds scudded across the sky, a typical day. No evidence of the storm building far to our south. The wind blew the oak limbs, scattering shadow and light, an ever-changing pattern that mimicked my emotions.

“I have reasonable doubt that Larry Wofford killed John Trotter, but I don’t see a clear path toward proving his innocence,” Tinkie said.

“I know. Arley was the most convincing witness against Larry. He told what he saw, nothing more. But it was damning. I’m not sure how to counteract that testimony. We’ve uncovered some interesting connections, but nothing that would overturn a conviction. I know someone else was on the boat, whether it was Remy or a paid killer. I just can’t prove it.”

“The murder weapon was never found,” Tinkie mused. “Is there a chance we could find it?”

“I doubt we’ll unearth it. Even if the killer kept it, we don’t know where to look. Sheriff Benson’s not going to help us.”

“Maybe we can turn up another witness. Someone who hasn’t come forward. If there was a motorboat, maybe someone else heard it.” Tinkie pushed off the car and wandered down a trail. “Let’s walk. I think better when I’m moving.”

“Unless we can come up with a suspect with a dynamite motive for killing John Trotter, I don’t see a way to help Wofford.” I sighed. “This is a next-to-perfect frame-up.”

“So our potential motives are to punish Angela for nosing into things, or to steal the Esmeralda treasure from John, or some unknown reason we have yet to discover.”

“Money and sex are the most common motives for murder.”

“Don’t discount revenge. A lot of people are driven by the desire to get even.”

She was correct. “If this hurricane blows in, the physical changes to the island could be catastrophic. If there’s any evidence—and that’s a big if—laying around, we need to find it before it’s blown away.”

“Talk about putting pressure on a person. Let’s just hope Margene cuts east or west and all we get is a bit of rain. Poor Cece is going nuts with worry. Whoever dreamed we’d be facing a hurricane on Halloween.”

As if speaking her name had conjured her up, Tinkie’s cell phone rang and Cece was on the line. I could hear her agitation from ten feet away.

“Calm down,” Tinkie suggested. “Sarah Booth is here with me. Now tell us both what’s the trouble.” She switched the phone to speaker.

“You will not believe this. You simply will not! It’s an outrage.”

“What’s wrong?” Tinkie and I asked in unison. It was one of our trademarks—to say the same thing at the same moment.

“Cornelia Holsteadler, she’s the problem.”

“Because?” It wouldn’t take much to prompt Cece into a full-blown hissy fit, so I tried to speak objectively—and calmly.

“She copied my ball gown! And she swears she’s going to wear the imitation to the Black and Orange Ball.”