Live and Lime Die: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 8 (6 page)

Marilyn
anxiously awaited the arrival of the officers who would be looking into the
vandalism that had occurred and wondered what on earth was going on with her
neighbor. Tiara had gotten to know him a bit, and thought of him as “a little
weird, but definitely harmless.” She was glad that her daughter didn’t have to
witness him being taken away by the police, probably for protecting her. He’d
always been oddly protective of Tiara, even before she’d come to trust and like
him.

It
had been tempting to see what the paper was, that was wrapped around the rock
or whatever it was that had come through her window, but knowing that she could
unwittingly be contaminating evidence by touching it, she left it alone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she heard a car pull up in her driveway, and looked
outside to see two uniformed officers approaching. She told them what had
happened and brought them inside to survey the damage, asking if either of them
would like some coffee. They demurred and she sat at the kitchen counter,
leaving them alone to conduct their investigation.

It
had been a crazy night, and she was operating on just a few hours of sleep, so
she brewed some coffee for herself, and scrolled half-heartedly through her
Pinterest app, trying to pass the time while the police collected evidence.

“Ma’am?”
the handsome Hispanic officer came into the kitchen, startling her a bit.

“Yes?”
she hopped down from her bar stool to meet him, setting her phone and her
coffee mug on the counter.

“Do
you know either of the people in this photo?” he asked, holding out a picture
in his gloved hand.

Marilyn’s
hands flew to her throat in alarm. “That’s my daughter, Tiara,” she whispered,
tears springing to her eyes. “And I’m not sure, but judging from the way that
he looks, I’m going to guess that’s Samuel Freed,” she turned to the officer
wide-eyed. “Samuel Freed is dead. What on earth is going on?”

The
officer held up a hand as though trying to get her to calm down. “We don’t know
just yet. This photo was wrapped around the rock that was thrown through your
window. It looks to me like someone was trying to send some sort of message. Do
you have any idea who that might be?”

She
shook her head numbly. “My daughter is in the hospital, on the 7
^th
floor, is there any way that arrangements for more security can be made?” she
pleaded softly.

“That
was taken care of when we found out that she was associated with the young man
who was found dead,” the officer assured her.

“Am
I safe? Should I be worried?” Marilyn didn’t want to panic, but her world had
turned upside-down pretty effectively today.

“Hard
to say,” he admitted. “It might be best for you to stay in your daughter’s room
with her at the hospital for tonight, until we can start putting things
together. If you’re up to it, I’d also like to ask you a few questions about
your evening with Bernard Cortland.

Marilyn’s
eyes grew wide at the mention of Cort’s name. “Oh gosh, is he…?”

The
officer held up a reassuring hand again and leaned in closer. “Out of surgery
and stable, but you didn’t hear it from me, are we clear?”

She
smiled at him gratefully and nodded, not sure that she could’ve survived any
more bad news this evening. “Crystal. Thank you, officer.”

“Manny,”
he replied. “Cort is a friend of mine. He speaks highly of you.”

Marilyn
blushed. “Thank you, Manny. It was so frustrating when no one would tell me
anything.”

“Understandable.
Did anything unusual happen while the two of you were out tonight? Anybody
lurking around, looking suspicious?”

She
thought hard, then shook her head. “No, the only person that we even
encountered, other than the wait staff was the daughter of a former client of
his.”

“Do
you know her name?”

“Jenna.
Jenna Winston. Her dad owns a yacht that’s docked over at the club. Cort used
to do private security for them,” she explained.

“Any
bad blood between the detective and the Winstons?” Manny asked.

“Not
that I know of. Cort sounded like he got along very well with the family.”

“Okay,
thanks. If you remember anything else, let me know,” he handed her a business
card with his contact info. “My partner and I are going to finish up here. If
you want to get to the hospital, I’ll call ahead so that security and the
nursing staff will let you through.”

“Thanks,
I’ll go get changed and head over there,” Marilyn nodded.

“Do
you have any sheets of plywood or anything in your garage?” he asked.

“I
think so, why?”

“We’ll
board up the front window for you before we leave. You can probably get a glass
guy out here to take a look at it tomorrow,” he offered.

“That
would be great – thanks. I hadn’t even thought about that,” she admitted.

“It’s
been a rough night for you,” he shrugged.

“Yes
it has,” she agreed, and headed up the stairs.

Jenna
Winston was furious that Sam hadn’t responded to her text. He had blown her off
to “go out with friends,” twice now, and the crew member whom she paid to
follow him had told her that he actually didn’t go out with friends at all, but
had gone briefly to a pie shop and sat outside of someone’s house in the
bushes. She’d paid a little bit more and found out that Sam had been stalking
an ex-girlfriend, who just happened to be the rude wench from the pie shop.

Samuel
had been ignoring her, and that was unacceptable, but the fact that she had
also been brushed aside by Bernard Cortland, who was way hotter than she
remembered, had just seared her to the core. And for what? The pie girl’s
mother! Seriously? What on earth was wrong with men these days? Didn’t they
know a hot, powerful woman when they saw one? Frustrated by the lack of
response from the men she had targeted as being worthy of serving her recently,
she decided to take matters into her own hands, and began by showing up at the
swanky bar, where Cort had taken Marilyn, after Jenna’s brother had spotted the
couple, looking quite cozy.

Hitting
yet another wall with the detective, and still feeling full of mischief, she decided
to go scope out the address that she’d gotten from her spy, where Samuel had
been hiding in the bushes. She was determined that she was going to either get
lucky, or ruin someone’s evening trying. Slipping into the opulent ladies rest
room at the bar, after downing Cort’s nasty dirty martini -she’d forgotten that
he drank the foul things - she opened her oversized bag and drew out a pair of
designer yoga pants and a matching black, long-sleeved top. Putting ultra-light
black running shoes on her feet, she crept out of the back exit and headed for
her rental car.

Jenna
parked down the street from Marilyn’s house and crept behind some bushes to
watch the events unfold. Just as she had suspected, she clenched her fists in
fury when she saw Tiara and Sam drinking wine on the back patio. Turning over a
dozen humiliating and painful scenarios in her mind that she’d like to inflict,
she sat up and paid attention as things began to get very interesting. The girl
hit the deck, the weird-looking dude with the pie jumped Sam, who resisted at
first, then just seemed to crumple, and the grand finale was the weird dude
carrying Sam, like a sack of potatoes, over to the house next door.

She
seriously considered going over an giving the girl who’d been capturing Sam’s
attention a good swift kick while she was down, but reconsidered when a car
pulled up in a hurry in front of the house. Glad that she had parked at the
other end of the street, where she could pull away without being noticed, she
made her way over to the weird guy’s house, to see if she could find a vantage
point from which she could check out what was going on. Her fury still burned
bright, knowing that Sam had chosen the pie chick over her, and she was doubly
incensed when she saw Marilyn and Cort get out of the car that had pulled up.

Both
of the men that she wanted were in the same spot, and both of them had pesky
peasant women standing between them and her. Perhaps the weird guy would at
least be doing something interesting with Sam that she could use to embarrass
him later. She had no idea. She crept around the side of Tim’s house, opposite
the kitchen, where lights blazed, and snuck over toward the dining room
windows, where some clumps of ornamental grass would provide great cover while
she watched the activities in the kitchen from afar. She was glad that she had
chosen the back of the house for her hiding spot, because now, flashing lights
from an ambulance that had just arrived were bathing the front and side in
light.

The
strange man had Sam laid out on the floor, and was doing things to him that
she’d never imagined. She wondered if he might be some sort of serial killer,
and was simultaneously sickened and excited at the prospect. He seemed very
clinical in his ministrations, and finished his bizarre ritual in short order.
She was a bit disappointed that the only things he’d done involved Sam’s eyes,
mouth and hands, but she couldn’t wait to see what came next. The man slung
Sam’s body over his shoulder, and she guessed, (correctly), that he was
probably headed toward the garage.

Thinking
that he’d be driving away soon, and wanting nothing more than to follow the odd
fellow, Jenna slunk along the far side of the house, into the neighbor’s yard,
and took off, keeping low, toward her car. Thankful that she’d had the presence
of mind to disable the dome light, she got in and closed the door behind her,
with no one even noticing. She started the engine and waited. Tim’s
non-descript sedan passed her by, and after waiting so that she’d be a safe
distance behind him, she pulled out to follow.

“You
have proof?” Ferguson rolled his eyes at Tim Eckels. “I’ll believe that when I
see it,” he scoffed.

“Have
one of your men bring me my phone and I’ll show you,” Tim replied calmly.

“You’ve
got to be kidding,” the detective raised his eyebrows at the weirdo in front of
him.

“I
assure you I am not. If you bring me my cell phone, I can provide unequivocal
proof that your victim was quite alive when I left him,” he insisted mildly.

The
detective glanced over at the uniformed officer sitting next to him. “Perkins,
go get his phone,” he drawled. “Let’s see if we can get him for lying and
impeding an investigation as well.”

The
cop was only gone a couple of minutes and came back, handing the cell phone to
Tim, who tapped at it, scrolled a few times, and tapped again, turning the
volume up and laying the phone on the table in front of Ferguson.

“You’ll
note,” he narrated. “The first live shot is of Mr. Freed lying on the dock.
Notice the rise and fall of his chest, indicating that he’s breathing. Note
also…let me zoom here…the pulse that can easily be seen on the side of his
neck. Now, look carefully at the time stamp. Here I am walking back toward my
car, getting further and further away, but the camera is still trained on him.
Once inside the car, I prop the phone in the back window, so that you can
continue to observe Mr. Freed, even as I drive away. I can only assume that the
two gentlemen standing near him are his friends,” he continued, figuring that a
little white lie surely wouldn’t hurt.

“Wait!”
Ferguson ordered. “Back it up. More. More. There! Who is that?” he murmured,
getting closer to the small screen. Unbeknownst, even to Tim, who had obviously
been driving at the time, a small figure had emerged from the shadows, spoken
with the men standing above Freed, and beckoned for them to follow with the
unconscious man between them, disappearing back into the shadows.

“I
have no idea,” Tim shrugged. “I hadn’t watched the video until now, so I hadn’t
seen that.”

“You
didn’t bother watching the video? Why?”

“Why
would I? What the camera showed after I left seemed rather irrelevant. The
important part is coming up, where you’ll see that the time stamp is precisely
8:57 when I pull into my driveway. Once I was back inside, the footage just
shows me settling in on the couch and watching a movie until I fall asleep. I
recorded it all, if you’d like to watch,” he offered.

“No,
I’m good,” Ferguson sighed, frustrated. “Why the heck did you go to the trouble
of videotaping the entire rest of your night?” he asked.

“Because
when one has a personality that others might find odd, I’ve found that it’s
best to cover one’s bases,” he gave the detective a smug smile.

There
was a sharp rap on the interrogation room door, startling everyone, and another
police officer poked his head into the room.

“Sorry
to interrupt, Ferg, but I’ve got something urgent,” he said, addressing the
detective.

“Can’t
wait?” Ferguson grumbled.

“No,
it can’t,” the officer was respectful but firm.

“Perkins,
give this yahoo his stuff back and get him outta here. The most that we could
get him for is malicious mischief and I don’t have the time to mess with it,”
the detective jerked his thumb at Tim, and followed the other officer out the
door.

**

“This
had better be good,” Ferguson warned.

The
officer wasted no time. “Okay, first…we found drugs in the stateroom of the
victim that matched the tranquilizers in his system and in the girl’s that he
was with, but here’s the kicker. They weren’t his meds, they belonged to a
chick he worked for, Jenna Winston. We also looked at the footage taken from
the cameras in the parking lot at the hospital, and even though it was dark, we
caught a glimpse of the…woman who shot Cort,” he said grimly. “The only thing
that we could tell for sure was that she had red hair – it flashed briefly
under the one small streetlight that’s out there.”

Ferguson’s
eyes widened as a new revelation hit him. “Red hairs were found on the victim,
he was shot with the same caliber gun that got Cort, and I just saw video of
someone, who was tiny enough to have been a woman, using two big guys to take
the victim off of the commercial docks and follow her,” he put it all together.
“I think we’ve got a double-trouble perp on our hands,” he nodded. “Let’s bring
her in. Now,” he ordered.

“That’s
a problem…” the officer hesitated.

“Why
is that a problem?” Ferguson’s eyes narrowed.

“The
Winston yacht pulled out over an hour ago, and she wasn’t on it, we checked.
She’s gone missing – told her dad that she wanted to hang out on the island for
a few days and relax. I can put an APB out on her, but so far, we don’t even
know where to start looking.