Murder Makes Waves (18 page)

“Really? What makes him think that?”

“It came from the pay phone in front of Delchamps. It showed up on our phone, but not on Laura’s. There was no call made to Laura’s from that phone or any other at that specific time.”

“Well, if she didn’t get a phone call, she deserves an Academy Award,” Haley said. “That woman was shaking like a leaf. I thought for sure she was going to keel over.”

“I agree,” I said. “She didn’t say she had just come from her apartment, did she? We all just assumed she had.”

“They could even have a phone on the boat,” Sister said. “Probably do.” She rubbed the frown line between her eyes.

“There could be all kinds of explanations,” Haley assured her, and then changed the subject by asking Sister if Fair
child had said what he was going to do with the land over on the bay.

“It reverted to the Blue Bay Corporation, Haley. You looked it up.”

“Not all of it. Wait a minute.” Haley disappeared inside for a moment, and came back with the brochure for Blue Bay Ranch that Lolita had given us and the photocopied papers she had gotten at the court house.

“Here,” she said, spreading them out on the glass-topped table. “The brochure says Blue Bay Ranch is nestled on 650 acres of prime woodland fronting Choctawhatchee Bay and bordered by Sellers Magee Bayou and Indian Paint Bayou.

“But look here.” She pointed to the top sheet of the photocopied stack. “Tod Abernathy bought 942 acres over there. Let’s see. Subtract 650 from 942. You’ve got roughly three hundred acres over there that Millicent didn’t put into Blue Bay. Two hundred ninety-two.” She looked up. “That will go to Fairchild, won’t it?”

“I’ll be damned,” Sister said. “I totally missed that.”

“So did I.” I took the paper and brochure and studied the figures again. “Reckon there’s a chance that acreage has already been sold?”

“Maybe,” Haley said. “We could ask Fairchild.”

“The insurance people are with him. He’s been talking about his property on the bay, but I just assumed he still felt like part of Blue Bay Ranch.” Sister took the papers from me. “Sellers Magee Bayou. That’s toward the Mid-Bay Bridge. I’ll bet you money this land goes from the bayou toward the bridge.”

“Maybe Laura would know,” I said. “We’ve got a couple of questions to ask Miss Laura, anyway.”

“I’ll call and see if she’s home.” Sister got up.

“Not many dull moments around here,” Frances said.

“Lord have mercy,” Laura said when she opened the door. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Patricia Anne.”

“It’s Summer Marigold,” I said. “It’s the same thing Sister has on her hair.”

“Sure looks different. I remember one time I put some coloring on my hair called Tahitian Night and, believe you me, it gets black in Tahiti at night. I like to have died.” She stepped back. “Y’all come on in. Just don’t look at the mess the apartment’s in. I’m getting ready to go to my sister’s, you know.” Laura was barefooted, had on snug knit shorts that appeared corrugated, topped by what must have been Eddie’s shirt. Since it was tie-dyed, it was either twenty years out of style or a year ahead. My bet was on the former.

“We just want to ask you something,” Sister said.

“Sure. Come on in. You want a Coke? I’m ready for a break.”

“Thanks.” Sister and I sat on the sofa while Laura clunked ice into glasses and brought in a tray with three Cokes. “I swear I can’t believe all this.”

“Is Eddie okay?” I asked.

“Pretty good. Somebody’s taking him over to the driving range. Fairchild said he told you. About the Alzheimer’s.”

“We’re so sorry.” Sister said.

“Well, so far so good. Eddie’s always been a gentle man.” She grinned. “Always having to calm me down. And, in a way, he’s just getting gentler. And some days he’s still sharp as a tack.”

“And the prognosis?” I asked.

Laura shrugged and handed us our Cokes. “Who knows? But I’ll tell you what I told Fairchild. Eddie’ll have the best care money can provide. That’s about all you can hope for with that awful disease.”

No. You can hope for someone who remembers what you once were and who still loves you.

Mary Alice held up her glass. “To Eddie.”

“To Eddie,” Laura and I echoed.

“Now,” Laura ran her palm across her cheek. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“A couple of questions,” Sister said. “For starters, Major Bissell told us there was no record of you getting a threatening phone call.”

“That’s because I got it in my car. That was one of the scariest things about it, that whoever was calling knew where I was.” Laura shivered. “Why would I lie about it?”

“True,” Sister said. “We were just checking.”

“Well, there’s no need. I got the call just like you did, and Eddie and I are getting the hell out of town. I suggest you do the same.” She set her glass of Coke down with a thump on the coffee table.

“We knew there was some explanation,” Sister said.

“We told Major Bissell that,” I lied.

Laura seemed appeased. “What else did you want to ask me?”

“Did Millicent have several hundred acres of land over on the bay that didn’t belong to Blue Bay Ranch?”

“All I know about’s Blue Bay Ranch.” Laura picked her Coke up and took a sip. “And getting Jason Marley to develop it to suit her was like pulling teeth. You can ask Jason. He said Millicent and Emily were both so hung up on those damn turtles it was driving him crazy. When they made us put a special kind of light on the end of our boathouses, one that doesn’t shine very far, he said, ‘Hell, that sort of defeats the purpose of a light on the boathouse. Somebody hits it, we’re in trouble.’ We did it, though.” Laura drank some of her Coke. “What do you want to know for?”

“Patricia Anne and I were having an argument,” Sister lied. “I told her Millicent said she still owned some land by the bridge and Patricia Anne said it was Blue Bay she was talking about.”

“It was Blue Bay.”

“Why did she give in and let it be developed, Laura?” I asked.

“Her family. You saw them today at the funeral. Millicent couldn’t let them want for anything.”

“She looked happy the other night at the Redneck,” Sister said.

“I think she was pleased at the way the development’s going.”

“No, I mean she was glowing. You know that look women get when they’re in love.”

“Or pregnant,” I added. Sister frowned at me.

“Or have had too much to drink.” Laura leaned over and put her Coke on the coffee table. “Let’s change the subject. I’ve been down in the dumps all day and that damn Florida Marine officer with all his questions hasn’t helped.”

“How long will you be at your sister’s?” I asked.

“A week. Maybe two. I’ll have to get back to see about the stuff over at Blue Bay.” Laura looked around the apartment. “You know, I’ve been thinking I might sell this place. You know anybody who might be interested?”

“Fred and I might be,” I said.

Laura and Mary Alice both looked at me, surprised.

“Well, we might. We’ve been talking about it. A little.”

“Bring Fred over,” Laura said.

“She was lying,” Sister said a few minutes later as we walked down the hall.

“What?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

“About the land. Laura knows Millicent owned more
land.” She opened the door to her apartment and we walked into the smell of popcorn. Haley was stretched out on the living room floor and Frances was on the sofa. They were watching
Somewhere in Time
and both were already sniffling. We each got a handful of popcorn, stepped over Haley, refusing her invitation for a good cry, and went to the balcony.

“How do you know she was lying?”

“Her big toe, Patricia Anne. Didn’t you see it? It was wiggling up and down like a worm on a hook.”

“A worm on a hook?”

“You know. The part that’s left over to attract the fish. That’s the way Laura’s big toe was doing. Up, down. Up, down. I don’t see how you missed it, especially with that red toenail polish and the big callus.”

“I saw the toe,” I said. “Laura needs to wear shoes at all times.”

“Well, she was lying. That big toe was a dead giveaway.”

“Don’t tell me. You learned this in that body language class you took.”

“Right.”

“But why would Laura lie about Millicent owning the land?”

“She didn’t. She was lying about knowing about it.”

“Or maybe her callus hurt.” I saw Fred coming down the beach and stood up to wave at him. He deliberately turned and looked out over the water, not returning my wave.

“Mouse, you better go get the drabber,” Sister said.

I made a gesture with my finger. “Did they teach you in body language class what this means?”

Sister laughed. “I invented it.”

T
en minutes later, there I was with bright red hair haulassing to the drugstore for drabber. That good, sweet man walking down the beach was obviously not prepared to deal with my Day-Glo curls, and I wasn’t so sure I was, either, in spite of my bravado. So when the elevator stopped on the third floor and a teenage boy and girl stood there waiting to get on, I hardly paid them any attention. My mind was already on the hair-coloring aisle at the Big B.

“Get in the elevator,” the girl said, giving the boy a shove.

“What’s wrong with you? Ladies first.” And the boy pushed her into the elevator.

“Stupid!” she grabbed at him. The door began to close, touched the boy, and sprang open. They both smiled at me sheepishly. When we reached the lobby, they sprinted for the beach. But I walked slowly toward our car. There was something I should be remembering, something that sat
there at the edge of my consciousness and that the kids’ tussle at the elevator had touched.

Maybe if I had remembered and put two and two together, I could have prevented some of the things that happened later. But the sun was shining, and I was on an urgent mission. No time for introspection. Maybe that’s why I paid so little attention to the cyclist turning out of our gate toward Highway 98. In spite of her helmet, I saw it was Sophie when we both stopped at the traffic light at the highway. In fact, we waved to each other. And then she turned down 98 in the direction of Blue Bay Ranch, and I went straight across to the shopping center. But people ride bicycles down 98 all the time. It’s a four-lane road with wide shoulders and even sidewalks through Destin. That she might be doing anything other than going for a ride never occured to me.

“You know this stuff’s temporary,” the tall, tan girl at the checkout counter said as she rang up my purchase. “You have to put it on every time. It’ll make your hair darker, too.”

“You got any other suggestions? I’m desperate.”

“Bernice at the Curl Up and Dye is your best bet. You should see some of the messes she’s straightened out. You want me to call her?”

I wasn’t sure I appreciated my hair being referred to as a mess, but then I remembered Fred turning his back on me.

“Call. You’re the second person who’s recommended her. But it’s Saturday. You think there’s any chance she can take me without an appointment?”

“Bernice loves challenges,” the girl said.

Which is how a ten-minute trip to the drugstore turned out to be two hours well spent at the Curl Up and Dye.

Bernice was a plump, grandmotherly woman in her six
ties. Her own hair was gray and healthy looking (“Wouldn’t put that junk on my hair!”) and in spite of the fact that it was June and the temperature was hovering in the high eighties, she wore brown corduroy pants and red Tote socks, the heavy ones with traction on the bottom.

“Do, Jesus!” she said when she saw my hair. “Terri Lee said it was an emergency.”

“I think it looks kind of rakish,” I said. “My husband hates it, though.”

“What did you do to it?”

I explained about the Summer Marigold.

“That’s pretty good stuff. Shouldn’t have done this.” Bernice rubbed some of my hair through her fingers. “Most gray hair’s hard to color, but I think we’ve got the exception to the rule here. What did the patch test do?”

“Didn’t do one.”

Bernice clicked her tongue. “Most people don’t. Makes it good for my business. Here.” She led me to a row of chairs before a long mirror. She and I were the only ones in the shop.

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

“I give my girls a couple of weeks off in the summer. Just close the whole damn place.” She flipped a plastic cape around me. “I still run the emergency room, though.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” I watched Bernice in the mirror as she examined my hair, picking up strands and looking at it.

“Okay,” she said finally, “do you want dark blond with a few gold streaks like Cindy Crawford or do you want to go whole hog like Christy Brinkley?”

My mouth fell open. “You can do that?”

“Of course not. I just wondered. I like Christy’s look, myself. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No.”

“Then hold your nose and let’s get going.”

“Shouldn’t we do a patch test?” I asked nervously as Bernice led me to a shampoo chair.

“You’ve already done it,” she said. “Flunked.”

God’s truth.

Over the course of the next hour and a half, I learned that Bernice’s blood pressure medicine made her cold, that the beauty shop was paid for lock, stock, and barrel, and that her husband had been addicted to the Weather Channel ever since he decided to ride out Hurricane Opal in their trailer. She, Bernice, had hightailed it to Montgomery with the cat.

“Three o’clock in the morning, he’s up sneaking looks at the radar,” she said, pouring something cold and foul smelling over my scalp. “Old fool.”

“That’s sad!” I said when I could catch my breath.

“Should have gone with me and the cat.” Bernice wrapped a plastic turban around my head.

“Did you have much damage to your trailer?”

“What trailer?”

Over the course of that same hour and a half, Bernice learned from me that my sister and I had found two dead bodies and been to a funeral on our vacation.

“Millicent Weatherby and Emily Peacock?”

“You knew them?”

“How big you think this town is, honey? I did Millicent’s hair. Emily came in with her sometimes.” Bernice set a timer and put it on the counter. “We got twenty minutes. Tell me what all happened.”

So I did, starting with the meeting at the Redneck Riviera and how good Millicent had looked.

“The Cindy Crawford look,” Bernice agreed.

“My sister said she looked like she was in love.”

Bernice picked the timer up, listened to it, and gave it a shake. “I think she was having a fling.”

“Who with?” I asked the question as casually as I could.

“Don’t know. She never said the name. He was involved in that development some way, though. Helping Millicent save the turtles. Crazy, if you ask me, when she had that handsome Fairchild at home.”

Jason Marley? Had he come in with money and sweet talk and put dreams right in Millicent’s hands?

“Emily didn’t like him, I know that.”

Not the way I heard it if it was Jason. “How do you know?”

“Things she said. One time Millicent was talking about this ‘friend’ of hers and how nice he was, and Emily said, ‘Just don’t turn your back on him, Millicent.’” Bernice set the timer again. “Gave me the creeps when I heard what happened.”

“You think he’s the one who killed them?”

“Bet my bottom dollar on it. I get these feelings. You know? I got a feeling about Millicent’s death. I even had a dream about it one night.” She lifted the edge of the plastic and checked my hair. “This beginning to feel warm?”

I nodded yes.

“Good. Tell me what else y’all saw.”

So I did, with Bernice nodding agreement.

“That’s all?” she asked as I finished describing the scene at Emerald Towers, how Emily had been looking out at the water. By this time Bernice was drying my hair and I had specific instructions not to look in the mirror yet.

“I guess so. Why?”

“I’ve already heard all that.” She clicked off the dryer. “Okay. You ready?”

I steeled myself for the results.

“Voila!” Bernice said, turning the chair so I could see myself in the mirror.

“My God!” I squealed. “How did you do it?” My hair was a mass of blond curls with enough gray to look perfectly natural.

“Practice,” Bernice said, obviously pleased with my reaction. “It’s amazing what women on vacation do to their hair. Sometimes I wonder if it means something. You know, psychologically.” She removed the plastic cape and brushed me off. “I hope you brought your checkbook. I don’t take credit cards.”

I had, and I was happily writing out a check when Bernice said, “I’m sure the guy was going bald.”

“Who was going bald?”

“The man Millicent was seeing. She asked me one time what I knew about Rogaine, and I told her she’d have to ask a doctor. She sure wasn’t asking for Fairchild, was she?”

I thought about Fairchild’s beautiful white hair. No, Fairchild had no need for Rogaine. But a lot of the men Millicent knew did.

“He was bald in my dream. That’s for sure.” Bernice stuck my check in her pocket. “You come back, now.”

As I headed back toward the condo, I mulled over what Bernice had told me about the Rogaine and considered who might use it.

First, obviously, was Jason Marley. He was bald as a billiard ball and the hairpieces proved he was self-conscious about it. He was involved in the development and was trying not to harm the turtle habitat any more than necessary.

Eddie Stamps was also involved in the development. He and Millicent had known each other for years, true, but maybe one of the first signs of his illness was an increased
libido with Millicent as the recipient. That would have infuriated Laura. Okay, possibilities here.

Berry West was losing his hair but he was not involved in the development or interested in the turtle rescue program. Besides, he lived in Birmingham. Very vague possibility that he was the “fling.”

Jack Berliner, though, the man in whose arms Millicent was glowing on New Year’s, was still a very good possibility. Home a lot, just down the hall. His wife gone much of the time. Even Sophie, whom Millicent loved, would have brought them closer together. But if he did prove to be the lover, that didn’t make him a murderer, in spite of Bernice’s “feelings.” And there had been two murders. Someone had had a good motive.

The last arc of the sun sank into the Gulf as I crossed the Destin bridge. For a second, the horizon flashed green. I hoped Haley had seen it. I also hoped that Major Bissell and Lisa Andrews would hurry up and solve the murders. Like Bernice, I had a “feeling.” I knew there was a cold-blooded killer among us.

Fred was pacing the parking lot when I pulled in. “Where have you been?” he asked, snatching the door open.

“And hello to you, too. I’ve been to the beauty parlor. See?” I stepped out of the car expecting him to be dazzled.

Instead, I got, “There’s such a thing as a phone, you know.”

How many times had I said those very words to our kids? Fred had even used the same intonation. I laughed. Big mistake. He turned and marched toward the lobby.

“Wait up, honey,” I said, hurrying after him. “I’m sorry.” I caught up with him at the elevator. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. You just disappear off the face of the earth for hours and expect me not to worry?”

The light was beginning to dawn. “You had a fuss with Mary Alice, didn’t you?” The elevator door opened and we stepped in.

“No, I did not have a fuss with Mary Alice. Philip Nachman is here.”

“Really?” I felt a surge of excitement. “When did he come?”

“Right after you left. And I tell you, Patricia Anne, that man is too old for Haley.”

I grinned. “They’re making a big to-do over him, aren’t they?”

“Like he hung the moon.”

“Well, just remind yourself he’s an ENT specialist and there is a season, turn, turn, turn for all your allergies. Besides, he’s not too old and you know it.” The elevator opened. “Plus, your daughter loves him.”

“Your hair looks good,” Fred said. “How long does that smell last?”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

Dr. Philip Nachman is the nephew of Philip Nachman, Mary Alice’s second husband, which can get confusing. Consequently, she has started calling him Nephew which has a sort of old-fashioned charm.

“Look, Patricia Anne,” she said as we walked in. “Nephew’s here!”

Nephew was sitting in one of the wicker chairs with a beer in one hand and a plate of goodies in his lap.

“Don’t get up, Nephew,” Mary Alice said, as Philip looked around for a place to put the plate.

“Hello, Philip,” I said.

“Hello, Patricia Anne. Your hair looks pretty.”

“Who did it?” Frances asked from the sofa.

“A woman named Bernice. Where’s Haley?”

“Getting dressed,” Philip said. “We’re going out to dinner.”

“Hmmm. Excuse me a minute.” I knocked on Haley’s door and went in. She was slipping on a navy sundress with white polka dots and she gave me a big grin.

“Where did that come from?” I motioned toward the dress.

“The outlet mall. I got it for my date with Major Bissell.”

I sat on the bed and looked at my watch. “A certain Lieutenant Major Bissell who is due to arrive here in about a half-hour?”

“I called and told him what had happened. I don’t think his heart was broken. Here,” Haley came over to the bed and turned around. “Zip me, Mama.” Her back was young, lovely, and vulnerable.

“What’s with Philip?” I asked.

“Don’t know.” Haley turned and looked at me.