Caught Read-Handed (13 page)

Two more cars pulled into the lot while we were doing a heel-toe quickstep toward the animal hospital. We opened the front door and there was so much commotion, we could have been in any Bealls Outlet store on senior citizen discount day.

Inga, Dr. Mays's competent jack-of-all-trades, was standing behind the counter with a phone glued to her ear. She waved us in and gestured toward a clipboard on the counter. Confused but curious, we played along. Then a voice from the reception area stopped us.

“
Chicas.
Have you come to help?” Miguel was standing with an older gentleman holding the leash of a cottony snow-white dog with a face like a snowball. “Come meet Mr. Gerrity and his magnificent bichon frise. Her name is Countess Aurelia but she answers to Tess.” Miguel turned from us to the pup and gave her fluffy head a brief pat. “Aren't you a good girl? Yes. You are a good girl.” And he slipped her a dog treat.

“Miguel, what will Bow say when she discovers you are stepping out on her? And with a dog, no less?” I shook my finger at him and we all enjoyed the joke.

Mr. Gerrity had a deep, hearty laugh that made his belly shake like Santa Claus. “Actually, young miss, Bow and Tess, well, I can't say they're friends but they do tolerate each other as neighbors, sort of like me and Miguel here. Say, where are your pets?”

I shook my head. “Apartment dwellers. We thought about it but it wouldn't work out. With a fifth-floor patio, I'd be a nervous wreck every time we opened the patio door.”

“For which I am so grateful. If Sassy and Bridgy—” Miguel indicated to Mr. Gerrity who was who. “If they were able to have a pet, they would have given my Bow a loving home and I would be without my
corazón
, my beloved kitty.”

“Is that why you are here? Is Bow getting a checkup? I didn't know Dr. Mays had such late office hours.”

“No. I thought you knew. I thought you are here to help. Dr. Mays, fine woman that she is, has decided that until the anaconda is gone, we will run a pet-sitting service for the animals who usually roam free on the island. When the animal's family is at work or church or shopping, the animal can stay here. There will be volunteers on call to help out as needed.”

“So Bow can stay here while you work?”

“
Sí
. And for part of that time, Mr. Gerrity and Tess will come and watch over her. It is all nicely arranged. So far twenty-two animals will reside here safely for some part of the day. It's like a cooperative. When I'm not working, Bow and I will come here for a few hours to help keep the other pets safe and happy.”

Mr. Gerrity told us that he was on his way to meet friends
for supper. “Tess isn't much of an out-of-doors dog. Sits around the side yard for a while during the day. Barks at the occasional egret. That's about her speed outdoors. But Miguel and I thought it would be a good idea if I brought her in for a bit tonight so she gets used to the place. When we come back tomorrow to help out with the other dogs and visit with Bow, Tess will be comfy.”

He bade us good night.

I had to ask. “Miguel, when did all this happen?”

“It was Lieutenant Anthony's idea. He spoke with Dr. Mays and then called me. We three met and decided we could provide safety for the pets until the snake is . . . resolved.”

“Frank Anthony? Really?” I was having trouble understanding that he would be concerned enough to worry about the small animals. Didn't the sheriff's department have other things to do? Like solve a murder? Still, I was overjoyed. Miguel was not the only pet owner who was alarmed about the anaconda. No matter who had the idea, it was a good one.

“
Ay
,
sí
. This is so much better than the old days. During Hurricane Charley, no one would help with pets. Islanders were told to go to shelters on the mainland. No pets allowed. Can you imagine? That is when I met Dr. Mays. I was working in the big hotel, the one down on the beach, and the sous chef decided he would not leave his cats behind. I invited him to come with me, cats and all, to stay with my relatives in Orlando. We were ready to leave when he heard that Dr. Mays had rented a vacant restaurant on the mainland for animals and their owners if they wished to ride out the storm together. That is where he decided to go. I went along to help with the animals. It is how I met Dr. Mays.”

The door to the examining room opened, and Ryan Mantoni
and Frank Anthony came out deep in conversation. I heard Frank say, “And see that a car stops by every hour that this facility is open. The deputy is to park and stop to see if there is anything we can do to help. And make sure the front desk has the doctor's cell number.”

Ryan nodded and then turned around and practically bumped into us. “Oh, hey, are you two here to help?”

Since everyone seemed to think so, I found it easier to smile and nod.

Frank gave us a quick salute and they hustled toward the door as though they were expecting a busy night.

The few times I'd met Cynthia Mays she was dressed in the most professional suits and dresses with a long white medical coat on top. So when a tall, attractive African American woman dressed in cutoffs and a white tee shirt emblazoned with the colorful emblem of the most recent Fort Myers Beach Shrimp Festival appeared, it took me a minute to recognize Dr. Mays.

She came over and welcomed us warmly. “Nice to see you again. Thanks so much for joining our little crusade. We're covered for the rest of today and early tomorrow, but Inga can fit you into a convenient volunteer slot.”

Frank Anthony interrupted. “Doctor, I have to get back but Ryan is arranging for you to have the watchful eyes of the Lee County Sheriff's Department on your office at all times. Anything you need, just call one of those phone numbers I gave you, someone will be at your service.”

He gave us all that “two fingers to the eyebrow” salute that he is so fond of and walked out the door with Ryan right behind him.

“Everyone has been so helpful. Miguel, did you tell the ladies about Publix?”

“Oh, I stopped in at Publix to pick up some distilled water—I won't allow my Bow to drink tap water—and Rhonda was on the register. I mentioned that Dr. Mays was running a temporary shelter to protect the small animals from the big snake. Before I could walk across the parking lot, the manager was calling me. He asked that I bring my car to the curb and he had two clerks load up animal food and treats, and even more distilled water.”

That is the way of life on Estero Island. Neighbors help neighbors no matter what the crisis. I thought of George and wondered how his visit with Alan went. I'd have to call as soon as we were done signing up as volunteer pet-sitters.

Bridgy and I decided we'd alternate late afternoon, early evening and cover each other's tour of duty if something came up. She signed up for the following day and I was on tap for the day after that.

Dr. Mays thanked us profusely and then moved off to greet two women who came in with a small pet carrier. I was wondering if the occupant was a cat or a dog when I heard an angry meow from inside the carrier and that question was answered.

My cell phone rang. As I pulled it out of my pocket, I felt something drop to the floor. The valet ticket. Darn. I could have given it to Ryan but it never crossed my mind. I was busy being charmed by Mr. Gerrity and Tess. And the two deputies were there and gone. All too quick for me. I decided to call Ryan first thing in the morning. First thing after the funeral service, that is.

The caller was Pastor John. I feared bad news but I chirped a cheery hello.

“Sassy, so glad I found you. I'm home. Owen and Mark are here. I know you're going to see Mark in the morning but they were wondering if you could meet with them tonight. We could come to the café.”

“No problem. Stay where you are. Bridgy and I are right down the street at the animal hospital. We'll see you in a few.”

I hung up and told Bridgy we had another mission. We waved good-bye to Dr. Mays and as we were walking to the car, Bridgy said, “What a great person. Do you think we could hang out with Cynthia Mays sometime?”

“I'd love to, but I doubt we'll have the chance to before the big green anaconda is permanently removed from Estero Bay.”

And we headed from one crisis to the other.

*   *   *

The three men were sitting on the patio, and Jocelyn was being the perfect pastor's wife serving cold drinks and a tray of droopy vegetables with a grayish-looking dip. Miguel would not approve. I decided to pass.

Bridgy and I sat on a love seat of white wicker covered by pillows decorated with a motif of brightly colored birds-of-paradise. The chairs the men occupied were an exact match. The grouping surrounded a glass-topped green wrought iron coffee table. Once we were seated, Mark Clamenta got right to the point. It had been such a long day that I appreciated his directness.

“I went to the hospital with Alan's family and we were able to see him this afternoon. I gave them privacy for a while but then all five of us spent the rest of the visit together.” He shifted
to the right and the left edge of the seat cushion popped on an angle when he crossed his legs.

“First off, Alan knew who they were and he knew who I was. He was inclined only to have small, polite conversations. No matter what you asked—how did he feel, how were they treating him, how was the food—Alan answered ‘fine.' That seemed to unnerve the family. I think they expected more.

“When George was outside talking to the doctor, the sister pressed Alan about the murder. She asked Alan if he hurt the woman. He got agitated, started fussing with his blankets, pulling at his restraints.”

“Restraints?” I was horrified.

“Apparently there was an incident earlier in the day. He threw something at the woman who came in to mop the floor. No one knows what triggered it. The doctor prescribed restraints until his meds are more effective.

“The thing is, the lawyer showed up. I'm not sure why they let him in. Anyway, he was loud and arrogant and demanded more money. George held his ground but the sister, Regina, is it? She got upset, started crying. That got Alan and George upset.”

He let us imagine the scene before he continued. “I figured the best thing to do was to ring the nurse's bell. The two that rushed in were very take-charge, as nurses tend to be. One was a take-no-prisoners gal about my age and the younger one was a burly guy, so when they told us all to leave, even the lawyer didn't give them any guff. We hustled out of the room and they directed us off the floor.”

He stopped talking just long enough to be sure he had all of our attention.

“As I see it, we have two problems. Number one, the
lawyer has to be put in his place. He has to stop browbeating the family for more money. Far as I can see, he hasn't done a lick of work. We're not going to let him bleed the family dry.”

He looked to Owen, who nodded forcefully.

“Next problem, and this is where you two come in.” He gestured to Bridgy and me. “The sister is emotionally frail. Even with O'Mally's support, George is going to be crushed under the weight of his brother and his sister. Whenever you can, try to distract her. Keep her away from her brothers. Less stress for Alan and it'll give George some room to breathe. What do you say?”

Of course we agreed. The only problem was how.

The next morning, through the café window, I saw Mark Clamenta walking across the parking lot toward the front door of the Read 'Em and Eat. I took off my apron and went behind the counter to grab my purse. I checked the time and realized he was a few minutes early. Ophie hadn't arrived to help Bridgy while I was gone, but I was sure she'd turn up soon.

The door opened and I heard Mark say, “After you, pretty lady.”

And Ophie pranced into the café like a nominee on Oscar night. She actually did that “index finger on her chin while batting her eyelashes” thing that the southern belles perfected decades ago in black-and-white movies. “Why thank you, sir. It's delicious to know there are still some gentlemen left in the world.”

Bridgy came through from the kitchen with a hot breakfast plate in her hand. I could tell by the look on her face
she'd heard her dramatic aunt. I raised my eyebrows and telegraphed my thoughts. Delicious? Really? I mean, who talks like that? The answer to my question was standing in front of me.

“Sassy, honey chile, don't y'all keep this handsome man a-waitin'.” She sounded exactly like a character in the classic
Gone with the Wind
.

Before I could say whatever joke came to mind at Ophie's expense, Bridgy rushed in to do the rescue with a little Scarlett O'Hara of her own. “My darlin' aunt Ophie, thank you for always being here in my hour of need. Now let's get an apron to cover that pretty dress. Blue is such a becoming color for you. Can't be having it ruined.” She dragged her aunt toward the kitchen but not before Ophie pitched what I thought was a rather steamy gaze directly at Mark Clamenta. He must have picked up on her intent because he colored a lovely shade of pink right to the roots of his thinning silver hair. He stood stock-still and watched her disappear into the kitchen.

Finally, he remembered why he was here. Turning to me, he clapped his hands. “Are we ready?”

Mark volunteered to drive, which pleased me to no end. I was content to sit in the passenger seat as beachgoers crossed over to the Gulf side of the island with all their paraphernalia, books and e-readers for the grown-ups, sand pails for the kids and broad-brimmed hats for everyone. As we turned up San Carlos Boulevard and drove across the bridge, I watched the ospreys and blue herons circle lazily, silhouetted against a cloudless sky. Occasionally, one would dive-bomb into the bay and come up with a prize. We crossed San Carlos Island and drove onto the mainland.

Mark told me he'd scouted out the unitarian church earlier in the morning. “A small street ends right opposite the church. I'll park there and we can watch for a while. If we decide to get out and mingle, we can cross over in a jiffy.”

He parked curbside under a stately royal palm. We were directly opposite the front entrance to the church, which was a fairly new and exceptionally aesthetic stucco and glass building. There was a large parking lot on one side and a tastefully landscaped lawn on the other. Two men in navy blue suits and somber ties were standing on either side of the main entrance. With their aviator sunglasses they could easily be mistaken for Secret Service agents. The few mourners who had arrived early were mingling in the parking lot. They chatted softly, perhaps not wanting to be first to go inside.

The sun was moving higher in the sky and there was less of a breeze than we'd had the past few days. I was glad I'd worn a beige cotton blouse and tan linen skirt. It was worth getting up extra early to iron so I could be comfortable. Sitting in the car for any length of time could get sticky.

Mark was silent and watchful, his eyes darting from face to face, his spine stiffening with every new car that entered the parking lot. He leaned forward, as if to verify what he was seeing and said, “Okay, now watch her.” He pointed. “The lady in yellow.”

Sure enough a woman in a pale yellow sundress wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat was walking purposefully past the mourners and toward the front door. She grabbed onto the handrail but only got to the second step before one of the blue suits held up a hand indicating she should stop. When she ignored him and proceeded to the third step, both suits moved to the center of the wide doorway and stood shoulder
to shoulder, preventing her from going any farther. The lady in yellow became agitated and was screeching loud enough that we could hear her tone if not her words.

Mark clapped his hands and chortled. “This is getting good. Want to go over?”

“Why not? Who is she?”

“One of the kooky neighbors.”

By the time we crossed the tiny street, everyone in the parking lot was drawn to the staircase. The woman was flapping her arms and ducking back and forth like a boxer trying to find an opening. Her shrill “I have a right to pay my respects,” didn't sound one bit respectful.

The suits crossed their arms. There was no way she had a chance of getting past them. From behind me I heard a familiar voice. “Excuse me. Thank you. Excuse me.” Cady Stanton maneuvered his way through the crowd and stood at the bottom of the stairs. In his quiet, controlled voice he approached the woman. “Mrs. Ramer, I'm Cady Stanton from the
Fort Myers Beach News.
Do you have time for a short interview?”

The woman went dead quiet, so Cady pressed on. “I won't take much of your time. I promise.”

She turned her head and then her full body. She took off her hat and held it high to shield her eyes from the sun while she took in Cady's full measure. “Why, I believe I can spare you a few minutes.” She tossed a cantankerous “You two haven't defeated me” look over her shoulder and walked back down the steps. Cady extended his arm and escorted her to a shady spot on the edge of the parking lot. The men in blue relaxed. They moved back into position on either side of the door, their mission fulfilled. A number of
mourners decided it was better to enter the church now before the path was blocked again by someone else. Men slipped their hands into jacket pockets and women opened purses. They retrieved buff envelopes and drew out stiff cream-colored cards. When shown to the suits, the cards were a magical entrance key.

“The husband is a builder, right?”

It took a second for me to realize Mark was asking the question of me. “Oh, yes. According to Ophie, he is a regular Daddy Warbucks. Money to burn. His car backs that up.”

“His car?”

“He drives one of those James Bond Aston Martins. Very showy.”

“Yeah, well he must have a thriving business to support the car because every general construction contractor, electrician, plumber and landscape architect from up and down the west coast of Florida is milling around this parking lot or already inside the church. Guess they want to stay on the husband's good side.”

I started to agree, and then it dawned on me. “The construction guys may be here sucking up to Barry Lipscome for business reasons, but if they are getting into the church, they were sent invitations. Look around; everyone here has an invitation. Perhaps Lipscome is using his wife's funeral service as a business event instead of the other way around.”

Mark gave me a look of appreciation. “I'll have to be careful around you. You're a sharp cookie.”

Two things happened at the same time. To my left, Sally Caldera stepped out of her car, while to my right, there was a loud commotion in the shady spot where Cady and the woman in yellow had been talking quietly just moments before. I gave
Sally a quick wave but moved away from her and toward Cady. Whatever was going on, I didn't want to miss it.

A bulbous man with a grizzled beard, whose surfer shorts hung past his knees to reveal hairy, spindly calves, was shaking his finger rapidly in the face of the lady in yellow.

“Ah, terrific. I've been waiting for him,” Mark said. He looked delighted that the man was here, regardless of the chaos he was causing.

Perplexed I asked, “Who are these people?”

Immediately contrite, Mark answered, “Sorry, I thought you knew. They are the Lipscomes' neighbors. The plaintiffs in the lawsuit. Cordelia Ramer, rabid environmentalist, and her next-door neighbor Otto Ertz, former wrestler, and not above episodes of 'roid rage. Quite a pair.”

A semicircle of gawkers was gathering around them as Cady tried unsuccessfully to calm Otto Ertz down. Mark Clamenta simply walked up and put his hand on the back of the wrestler's neck and gave it a pat. “Otto, how's it going? Woman giving you grief?” Mark laughed and swiveled his head as though he was looking for some agreement that the situation was amusing. Cady and I both caught on and let out a few “hee-hees.”

Ertz calmed down immediately. He shook hands with Mark, said he was pleased to meet me and generally acted as though his tantrum in the previous couple of minutes hadn't happened. While Mark was making small talk and Cady was trying to swing the conversation back to whatever aspect of the funeral his news story would cover, I spotted Elaine Tibor walking across the parking lot. She was dressed to the nines in an expensive-looking grey sheath dress and high heels that Ophie would envy. What were surely fourteen-karat-gold
pendants graced her neck and ears. It was a heck of a look for a graduate student who waits tables for a living. I watched as she displayed her invitation to one of the men in blue. Then she sashayed through the double doors and into the church.

“That's interesting,” I said to no one in particular. “Why would anyone invite the tutor and not the neighbors?”

“That's the most galling part of it all. Who was physically closer than we were? Us just down the road?” Cordelia Ramer spread her hands in appeal to the small group around her. “I mean, if a tragedy occurs, neighbors are the first on the scene . . .”

Her face crashed to stricken and she couldn't pull back either the words or the look. A tragedy had occurred. No one was around to help. And who knows whether or not a neighbor might have caused it.

Otto pushed her hands downward. “What difference does it make now? I don't care who got invited. I'm only here to make sure that Miss Rich Witch is dead and will soon be buried. The woman gave us nothing but grief.” He assumed a high-pitched chalk-on-blackboard kind of voice. “Your trash can is too close to the edge of the road. Don't mow your lawn so early in the morning. Leave your outside light on at night.” His voice returned to normal. “Orders. All the time, orders. I'm glad she's dead.”

Cordelia gasped. “Otto, please.”

“Come on, Cordy. Life will be happier on the block and you know it. As for the pool . . .”

“Oh, that. The pool issue is over and we won.” She nodded confidently.

Cady, ever the newsman, went after the scoop. “Really? Congratulations. When did the court decide?”

Cordelia gave him a look as if she was a teacher, and a martinet at that, and he had failed his fourth-grade spelling test for the third time. “Sonny, we don't need judges or courts to win this one. Barry Lipscome is a high-flying business man who is rarely home. Why would he go through the fuss and bother of a lawsuit to build a pool he doesn't have time to use? The pool issue is dead.”

“Dead as Mrs. Lipscome,” Otto chimed in.

No one else said a word. But I'm sure I wasn't the only one thinking that these two were flush with motive and opportunity.