Key Lime Blues (12 page)

I kept reminding myself psychics were charlatans, but there was a little voice in the back of my head that kept asking, what if he’s not?

Chapter 11

A million conflicting thoughts ran through my mind as I walked away from Elvis’s house. At least it seemed that way. I needed to find out who was lying to me, Destiny or Elvis? Which one had the diamonds? Even more important, how was I going to get my hands on them? I also couldn’t help but wonder if either of them was in any way responsible for Nick’s death, although I still leaned toward Frankie’s boys being the killers. I also found myself wondering if Elvis had dreamed of Celine’s ghost or if he’d made up the entire story. I shook my head and told myself I was I nuts for even considering the possibility he was for real.

I should have been paying more attention while I walked along Duval. Instead, I hung my head and studied the sidewalk, not paying attention to what was going on around me. A voice at my shoulder brought me out of my reverie and caused me to jump and spin around.

“Where you going, Wes?”

I took a deep breath and willed my heart to slow its rapid beat when I saw the smiling face of my friend, Brenda Fielding. She hugged me and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. I hadn’t seen much of her in the past month since her boyfriend, Randy, showed up in Key West and moved aboard her boat. I’d missed her company.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m trying to work out a few things in my mind.”

She let go of me and stepped back. “You looked so lost. You do realize a good sailor is supposed to react, not think.”

I laughed. “You’re looking good today.”

This caused the smile on her face to broaden. Brenda was a couple of years older than me and worked as a night shift nurse at the local hospital. She was wearing a pair of cutoff shorts, a sleeveless t-shirt, and as always she wore little makeup. The biggest change since the last time I’d seen her was that she had cut her hair short and changed the color from brown to blond.

Brenda was the first person I met when I pulled into the mooring field a couple of months earlier. The wind had been blowing a steady fifteen knots from the north, and although I was an experienced sailor, I’d never picked up a mooring ball before. Brenda was returning to her boat and when she saw the bind I was in she headed her dinghy over to where I was struggling. She helped tie the boat off and stayed for dinner. Over the next six weeks we spent almost all of our time together. Unfortunately for me, her ex-boyfriend came back into the picture and now we were just friends.

“How about if I buy you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I suspect a shot of caffeine will work something loose for you.”

Glancing at my watch I saw it was a little past noon. “Sure.” I looked around. “Where’s Randy?”

“To make a long story short, he’s gone. But I’d rather not talk about him. The Bad Ass Coffee Company is up ahead. What do you say we head on over there?”

The building that housed the Bad Ass Coffee Company was larger than most of the Starbucks I’d visited over the years. It only took one visit to realize they were not a seat-of-the-pants independent shop. To place an order it was necessary to pass a gauntlet of shelves filled with logo caps, mugs and shirts. I’m sure the jackass logo appealed to many customers, but Brenda and I had no trouble resisting the merchandise as we walked up to the counter.

Brenda ordered some kind of a sweet sounding frozen drink with an exotic name and an inflated price. I ordered a cup of French Roast, black and strong. When I reached for my wallet Brenda pushed me aside and laid a credit card on the counter.

“I said I was buying,” she reminded me. “Why don’t you go grab us a table and I’ll be right with you.”

When Brenda joined me at the table she took a serious sip of her drink, set it down and took a moment to look me over. She must have liked what she saw because she smiled and reached out and took my hand.

“I think what I missed the most, were our talks,” she said.

“It was your choice,” I reminded her. “You made it pretty clear you didn’t want me hanging around once Randy showed up.”

She shrugged. “I guess I was being naive. I thought we could all be friends. Randy was too jealous of you. He came all the way down here and I needed to give the relationship one last try.”

“And now it’s over and he’s gone?”

“Yeah. He couldn’t stand living on the boat. Said it made him claustrophobic. He wanted me to sell it, move back up to Minneapolis and get an apartment. He gave me an ultimatum—him or the boat. I think I made the right choice when I chose the boat.”

“I never did like the guy.”

“I know,” she said. “So what’s got you so wrapped up you don’t even watch where you’re going?”

I blew on my coffee, took a sip, and gathered my thoughts. In the short time we’d dated we talked about everything and I couldn’t see any reason to hold back now. I told her about Nick, Frankie Szymanski, and Destiny. She already knew the reason I’d quit being a detective and when I mentioned what Elvis told me, she raised an eyebrow.

“You’re right,” she said. “You’ve got a shit load to think about. I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks,” I said. We sat looking at each other for several minutes, sipping our coffee and waiting for the other to say something. Finally I asked, “Do you believe in psychics?”

When Brenda answered, she sounded tentative. “I’m not sure. But my mother is convinced her sister Rose possessed psychic abilities. She swears to this day that my aunt saved the whole family.”

I finished my coffee and raised a finger. “Hold that thought while I get a refill. Can I get you anything?”

Brenda shook her head so I went up to the counter, got my refill and made my way back to the table. I didn’t believe she could convince me psychics were real, but Brenda always told interesting stories. I sat back down across from her and said, “Go ahead. Convince me some people have psychic abilities.”

“I’m not trying to change your mind about anything. But I’ll tell you the story. It was back in nineteen fifty-nine. My grandfather owned a farm outside of Minneapolis and he’d decided to take the family on a trip to Chicago. My aunt Rose was the youngest. She was only thirteen. Then there was my Uncle Frank and my mother.”

“I’m not convinced.”

Brenda frowned and cast an evil look my way. “You’re beginning to irritate me.”

I’d been properly chastised. I looked down into my coffee cup and shut up.

“The morning they were supposed to catch the train, Rose woke up crying. She didn’t want to go. When my grandmother pressed her, Rose said she had a dream the train they were on crashed and they were all killed.”

“But she was wrong,” I interrupted. “You’re here. Your mother must not have been killed.”

“Are you going to let me finish my story or not?”

I was going to suggest that I warm my coffee a little, but the scowl on her face made me reconsider. I folded my arms and nodded. “I’m listening.”

“My grandfather was a hard man. He wasn’t going to let the dreams of his youngest daughter spoil his vacation. He informed the family that Rose was imagining things. Told everyone to get packed so they could leave. By the time they were finished packing, Rose couldn’t be found. From what my mother told me, my Grandfather was livid. They missed the train, and when they found Rose she got a beating she never forgot.”

“And the train?”

“It arrived in Chicago right on time.”

“So how does this make your aunt psychic?”

“This is where the story gets interesting. My grandfather was so mad he refused to catch another train. He was punishing the entire family for what my aunt Rose did.”

“I’m still waiting for the punch line.”

“The punch line, as you put it, is that the train they would have returned home on hit a car in Wisconsin. The train jumped the track and seven passengers were killed.”

“So you’re telling me your aunt did have psychic abilities?”

Brenda nudged her cup aside and leaned toward me. “What I’m saying is that my aunt was right that
time. From
what my mother told me, Aunt Rose never experienced another psychic dream, at least she never admitted it. Maybe it was a one-time thing or maybe she was afraid of getting another beating. I don’t know.”

“So explain to me again how this story is supposed to help me?”

“Think about it. Maybe this Elvis guy is right; maybe he’s a nut case. Your mother owns a detective agency. What harm will it do to check out the girl’s father, or stepfather, if that’s what he is? Does he own property with a barn on it? Did he adopt the girl? Was the mother’s death suspicious? Worst case scenario you end up where you are right now.”

“My mother would never open a case based on a psychic’s predictions.”

“Don’t tell her. You’re a bright guy. I’m sure you can figure a way to get around it.”

“I’ll think about it.” I checked the time and stood. “I’ve got some things to do, and I’ve got to prepare myself for my mother’s arrival. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“I know you’ve got some issues with her,” Brenda said. “But a couple of days together can’t be that much of an ordeal—can it?”

My phone rang before I could answer, saving me an explanation. “I should get this,” I said, pulling the phone from my pocket. “It might be her. I hope she didn’t catch an earlier flight.”

“Well hang in there,” Brenda said. “And let’s keep in touch,” she added as she pushed herself away from the table. She gathered up the dirty cups and carried them over to the garbage can near the door.

 
“After my mother leaves why don’t we get together and go for a sail?”

“Call me,” Brenda said, and then she headed out of the door while I flipped open the phone.

“Wes Darling here,” I said.

“Darling, this is Detective Davies. Get your ass down to the station. We need to talk, and sooner is better for you than later.”

Chapter 12

Davies had been curt on the phone and I couldn’t imagine what might have pissed her off, unless she’d just gotten off the phone with my mother. That might do it, especially if Davies told my mother she couldn’t claim Nick’s body. Mother was used to having her own way. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had taken their anger with my mother out on me.

This time Davies wasn’t outside when I arrived. When I entered the building the officer at the desk looked up from the book he was reading. I told him my name and who I was there to see. He stood and looked me up and down before asking, “You armed.”

“No.” For a moment I thought he was going to come around the desk and frisk me, but instead he turned toward the door to the back offices.

“Follow me.” He led me back to the same office where I’d met Davies the day before. When he left he added, “Linda will be with you in a few minutes.”

It was the first time I’d heard her first name, and I realized she had never mentioned it. I suspected she had done it on purpose, her way of keeping our relationship professional. I thought about the implications, and wondered once again if she suspected me in Nick’s death. Maybe I’ll ask her, I thought while I sat back to wait for her to appear. She kept me waiting for nearly twenty minutes.

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me,” I said when she finally walked in. She was much more casually dressed than the first two times I’d seen her; jeans, neatly pressed, and a light blue blouse. She still carried the huge purse slung over her shoulder, and she was carrying another file folder, which she tossed in front of an empty chair.

“Mister Darling, I’m glad you could make it. When you didn’t answer my earlier call, I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“What earlier call?” I asked, and then I remembered the call I’d received when I was with Elvis.

“It’s not important.” She sat down across from me. “What’s important is that you’re here now.” She leaned forward and I caught a hint of her perfume, something heady and exciting. It almost made me want to forget about this woman’s pock-marked face. “You don’t mind looking at a few other pictures, do you, Wes?”

I shook my head no. She leaned back and picked up the file folder. She never took her eyes off my face as she opened the file, took out an eight-by-ten publicity photo and slid it across the table to me. I tried to prepare myself for another look at Nick. I hesitated, picked up the picture, and glanced at it before tossing it back to Davies.

 
“That’s not Nick,” I said.

“No shit Sherlock. You really are a detective aren’t you? You do know who it is though?”

“His name is Billy. He works at Dirty Alvin’s. He was there last night in fact. What happened to him, and what does he have to do with Nick?” She had succeeded in surprising me, and I almost told her that I knew him and Destiny, but I held back. I wasn’t ready to let her in on my investigation. I didn’t like the implications. Billy was Destiny’s boyfriend, and Nick was looking for Destiny. It was a little too much to be a coincidence.

“His given name’s William
Bodine
,” she said, still watching my face. “He’s got a record. He has a temper, and we’ve received several complaints about him. We found him in his apartment this morning. He’d been shot in the head like your friend. By the way, Wes, where were you last night?”