The Black Palmetto (2 page)

Simone remained quiet as they ate, seemingly in a bad mood. She’d gotten angry about what Sam had said, but he didn't care much for mixed signals. Maybe she had a thing with Karl, and maybe she didn't.

When they finished, Sam paid the bill and left a tip. Simone headed outside, and the man who had stared earlier got up and caught Sam at the door.

“I saw you flashing that picture,” the man said, his voice low. He glanced back into the restaurant, beyond the bar area, and frowned. “I might know something about him, but I can’t talk right now. You staying at the Blue Iguana?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, meet me behind the place, next to the beach, in an hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

The man went back to his table and Sam strode out the door.

“You mad at me?” Sam asked Simone when he got into the car.

She sighed and peered out the window. “No, I'm just tired. I need to get back and catch some Zs.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“’Cause we can talk about this thing you have with Karl if you want.”

Simone turned and smiled. “There's nothing to talk about. I shouldn't have said anything about the girl back there. We just need to get this job done and get out of this place, okay?”

“Sure, let's get it done.” He told her about the man speaking to him at the door.

“Maybe he knows where we can find Spanner.”

“I hope so.”

“Let's get going. It's like an oven in here.”

****

They decided Sam would go to the meeting alone, since the guy had waited until Simone walked out the door before saying anything. At 9:35 p.m. Sam went out through the sliding door leading to the beach. They’d taken the room next to the one Spanner had rented.

He stood next to the wall, waiting until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. The grassy grounds behind the motel extended about fifty feet to a narrow beach and a lapping surf. A full moon shone from the east, reflecting off the white sand and transforming the Caribbean into an endless expanse of tarnished pewter.

Something made a noise in the palmetto scrub bordering the motel on the side. It sounded like someone moving in the brush, crunching dead fronds. A shiver raced across Sam's neck as he pulled his gun. He hugged the motel wall and eased to the corner, closer to the brush, his pulse thumping in his ears. A light from the front of the motel cast a dim glow over the area on the side. The noise grew louder then changed to a scrubbing sound as it cleared the palmettos and slid onto the grass into view. It resembled a dragon, about five feet long with spines down its back and claws that could probably hurt you. Something like a beard hung underneath its chin. An iguana. Probably harmless, but he didn't want to give it the impression of being cornered. He stepped backward and the creature snapped its head in his direction. It jerked around and thrashed back into the palmettos.

The gun back in his holster, Sam peered across the grounds between the motel and the beach. No sign of anyone. He checked his watch. 9:50 p.m. Maybe the guy had changed his mind. After another ten minutes, he gave up and stepped around the motel to scan the parking lot. Six cars had been there when they'd returned from Chopin's, and no new cars had arrived.

Back in the room, he told Simone about the no-show and the iguana.

Headed into the bathroom, she said through the open door, “There's a brochure on the dresser that tells about the iguanas on the island. Apparently the place has lots of them. Probably why there aren't any other motels along this stretch of beach. It said they're pretty harmless, as long as you leave them alone. If you get too close, they can bite, and pop you with their tails.”

“Yeah, well, I'm going to steer clear.”

A minute later she came out carrying her clothes, dressed in a short nightgown. Sam remembered she liked to sleep that way.

Pulling small bottles from her bag, she poured gin and tonic into two glasses filled with ice atop the small table in the corner.

“No sign of your guy, huh?”

Sam sighed. “No, and that's too bad. He probably knows something that would help us.”

“Probably just some wacko.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She sat down on the bed, pulled her legs up, and leaned back against a couple of pillows. “Aren't you going to have a drink?”

He shook his head. “I think I'll go back to Chopin’s and see if I can find him. Maybe he just had too much to drink and forgot about the time.”

As he said it, he remembered the way the guy had scanned the place before speaking. A feeling of dread gnawed at his stomach.

Simone's smile leaked away. “Okay, suit yourself. I'm turning in after I watch the news, so be quiet when you get back.”

He looked at her lounging there in her short nightie, and wished he had accepted the drink offer. It could have turned out that Karl with a “K” didn't mean as much to her as she'd let on. Too late now. The moment had passed. She pulled the sheet over her legs and turned the TV on with the remote.

“Yeah, I'll do that,” he said and strode out the door, closing it behind him.

A few minutes later he turned into the driveway leading to Chopin's and parked. Floodlights illuminated the parking lot. On his way to the door he noticed a throng of people standing by a car toward the far corner of the lot. A couple of men wore police uniforms.

“That's the guy,” a man said, pointing in Sam's direction.

One of the officers turned, seemed to zero in on him, and hurried over.

Uh oh.
The dread returned, this time full blast. Something had happened to the man. Too late to run. He still had the gun in his holster, the butt sticking out. Maybe his shirttail covered it up.

“You got some ID?” the officer asked. The nametag above his shirt pocket identified him as Lt. Lonnie Cates. Muscle bound, like a steroid freak, he stood a few inches shorter than Sam, had oily, slicked back hair, and a pencil-thin mustache that had taken some time in front of the mirror.

Sam pulled out his driver's license and handed it to Cates.

The lieutenant studied it for a few moments. “You're from Miami?”

“That's right. What's the problem?”

Cates narrowed his eyes, stuck the license into his shirt pocket, and took Sam by the arm.

“Come on. I'll show you what the problem is.”

Cates' fingers dug into his arm. They reached the throng and the people parted. The man who wanted to meet him earlier lay on the ground between two cars. He looked dead. Another man knelt over him.

“Chief Boozler,” Cates said to the kneeling man, “this is the guy. He could be a professional hit man.”

The chief turned his head to stare at Cates, rolled his eyes and stood. Unlike the officer, he wore civilian clothes, stood over six feet, and carried a few extra pounds about the middle.

“Don't you think it's kinda soon to be drawing conclusions, Lonnie?” Boozler asked.

Cates' eyes darted to the people standing by. “Sure, Chief. Too early for that.”

Boozler took the license and turned it so he could read it in the light of the floods. After a few seconds, he handed it back to Cates and glared at Sam.

“This is Jake Bell,” the chief said, pointing to the man on the ground. “Somebody stabbed him. A witness saw you talking to him earlier this evening. Mind telling me what you were talking about?”

Sam didn't see any reason to lie, at least for the most part.

“I came here looking for a man.” He removed the photo from his shirt pocket and handed it to the chief. “His name is Sean Spanner. I showed the picture to the bar owner inside, and Mr. Bell here saw it. After we ate, he came up to me and said he knew something about Spanner. He said to meet him at the Blue Iguana in an hour, but he didn't show up. I came back here to see if I could find him.”

Boozler nodded. “Why are you after this Spanner guy?”

“He stole some money, and I came here to get it back.” Sam didn’t see any need to go into the stolen flash drive. The simpler the better at this point.

“You a private detective?”

“No, not a detective. Just a friend of the man who lost the money. Doing him a favor.”

“Who is this man?”

“Sorry, I'm not at liberty to say.”

The chief clicked his tongue, turned his head for a moment, and fixed Sam with a stare.

“Son, this man was just murdered, and his father has more money than anybody between Key West and Miami. I think you better come up with a name.”

Sam shook his head. “Sorry. He had nothing to do with this man's death, and neither did I.”

Boozler drew a deep breath, let it out, and turned toward Cates. Probably about to tell the officer to put the cuffs on him.

“You're wasting your time asking me about this,” Sam said. “My guess is that someone did something to Spanner for the money I mentioned, and killed Jake Bell because he knew about it.”

The chief narrowed his eyes. “That assumes what you're telling me is the truth. Since you won't come clean about who you're working for, I'm not inclined to believe anything else you say.”

“Listen, Chief, my girlfriend is back at the motel. She's was with me from the time I left this place until a few minutes ago when I came back to see why Jake didn't show up. You can call her if you want.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it up.

Boozler seemed to consider that for a moment and nodded. “Okay, ring her up.”

When Simone answered, Sam said, “Honey, the man who was supposed to meet me was killed outside the bar where we were earlier. I know, that's terrible. Yes, the Chief of Police is standing here, and he wants to ask you some questions.”

Simone picked up right away on the conversation. She knew what to say. Sam handed the phone to Boozler, who introduced himself and began with the questions. A couple of minutes later, he thanked her and handed the phone back.

Sam dropped it into his pocket. “So, okay if I go?”

Cates, who had been listening a few feet away, said, “You're not going anywhere until you answer the chief's questions.”

Boozler glared at him, shook his head then turned back. “Yeah, you can go, but you can't leave town. I need that photo you showed me and any information you have about the guy.”

He handed over the photo. Simone had a duplicate, so he didn't care about parting with this one. The chief wrote down Spanner’s name and car model, along with Sam's phone number, in a pocket-sized pad.

“Okay, give him his license, Lonnie.”

Lieutenant Lonnie Cates stared at Sam for a couple of beats, his thin lips pursed. He adjusted his gun belt before taking the license from his pocket and handing it to Sam.

Sam turned to head back to his car. When he did, he saw the woman who’d been sitting with Jake Bell earlier inside the restaurant. She stared for a moment then someone stepped into his line of vision. By the time the person passed by, she’d disappeared, so Sam went toward his car.

The woman caught up with him. “Hey, I know you didn't kill Jake. I saw you leave with your girlfriend.”

“Yeah? Why didn't you say something about it to the chief?”

She smiled. “I thought you were doing pretty well.” Her large eyes shone blue in the glow of the floodlights, her lips like ripe strawberries. Something fluttered inside Sam's chest.

Chapter Three

The woman held out her hand. “I’m Lora Diamond. I work for the local newspaper.”

Newspapers usually blabbed too much about things they shouldn't.

He shook her hand. “Sam Mackenzie. You a reporter?”

She nodded. “You want to get a cup of coffee and talk about what happened here tonight? There's an all-night diner over on US-1.”

He didn't need to become part of a news story, even for a beautiful reporter, but maybe Jake Bell told her something.

“As long as you don't mention my name anywhere.”

Lora raised an eyebrow. “Why do you have a problem with that?”

“I don't want to be in the papers, that's all.”

She gave him a sardonic smile. “I could just go with what I already have. Stranger in town. Spoke with the victim a little while before he was killed. That would get everybody’s attention.”

“Yeah, you could do that. Probably wouldn't be in your best interest, though.”

She backed up a step and glanced in the direction of the police. “Why, what would you do?”

Sam smiled. “I wouldn't do anything, but the man I'm working for might shut down your newspaper.”

“Who is this guy you work for?”

“Sorry that's all I can say about it.”

“Ah, I get it,” she said, grinning, “this is some kind of government thing.”

“No comment.”

“Okay, you win. No names. I'll even let you clear the story. How about it?”

Maybe she'd keep her word. He hoped so, because he did want to talk to her. “I guess that sounds okay.”

****

They left in separate cars, and Sam followed her to the diner, which sat across the road from the beach. Only one person seemed to work the night shift. The waitress served the counter and the booths, and maybe even cooked in the back.

After ordering coffee, Lora took out her notebook and laid it on the table. “So, what can you tell me that isn't classified?”

Sam smiled. “Why don't you tell me what you know about Sean Spanner?”

“I don't know anything about him. Jake seemed anxious to tell you something about the guy, but when I asked him what it was, he wouldn't say.”

“Did you leave before he did?”

“We went out to the parking lot at the same time, a minute or so after you left. He said he had to talk to you about something at the motel, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. I waited before pulling out, so he wouldn’t see me, and then I drove to the Blue Iguana, hoping to eavesdrop on your conversation. When Jake didn’t show, I went back to Chopin’s in case he showed up there again. I got there just a few minutes ahead of you, and the police were already there, standing over his dead body.”

“You don't seem too shook up about it.”

“What? Oh, Jake and I weren't dating if that's what you think. I met him at Chopin's to get some information for a story about a big development his father is building in Marathon.”

“Did you get it?”

“Some of it, but when you came in and flashed that photo, he got quiet and didn't say much after that.”