Too Much Stuff (8 page)

“We have a question for you,” the officer said. “Something you weren’t asked during our previous interrogation.”

James turned to me with a pleading look on his face. I would have to take the questions because if James said what was in his heart, they’d take him back to jail, toss him in, and throw away the keys.

“That question is?” I leaned over and shouted out James’s window. He absolutely wasn’t going to cooperate. I knew that.

“Somebody saw a Harley-Davidson pull out of the parking lot at Pelican Cove, about the same time that the resort reported the dead body.”

I’d heard that Harley. Wondered about it as well.

“The driver had a helmet on, face guard pulled down, and he …” the officer hesitated, looking back at his partner, “he, or
possibly she, rode a black cycle with a gold fender.” Taking a deep breath, the officer continued. “Does any of that sound familiar? Do you know anyone who owns that cycle?”

“No.” I shouted out the answer to his last question. We knew no one who owned that cycle. So technically I was telling the truth.

“Guys,” the officer looked up at James, “we want to solve this homicide as soon as possible. Understand that with every minute that goes by, it gets harder to solve the crime. We just want to put it to bed by tonight.” He looked back at his partner. “Is there any reason that the driver can’t answer any of these questions?”

James gripped the wheel even tighter.

“If we have any information, we’ll call you.” I shouted it out. “Who should we call?”

“Danny Mayfair.”

“Big D?”

He paused.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Not important. I just wanted to make sure you were the guy.”

I leaned back and nodded to James. He took his foot off the brake and coasted out of the shell-filled parking lot. We crossed Old Highway and got back on the Overseas Highway. Both of these roads were definitely not highway status, but it made no difference. We would ride it back to our abode.

He drove in silence for a minute or two, stopping at a long red light. Finally, James turned to me and grinned.

“Dude. You smarted off to that police officer. The “Big D” thing.”

“I did.”

“You’re the buttoned-up guy. My man who usually plays by the rules, doesn’t want to ruffle feathers.”

“I am that guy. Usually.”

“Pard, I’m impressed.”

A tandem semi pulled up behind us, the driver’s air brakes screeching. For a moment the sinister-looking dude made eye contact, the man nodding at me as I checked my side mirror.

“You’re not a murderer, James. You’re my best friend. I don’t hang around with killers. You know?”

Without missing a beat my best friend turned to me and said, “You killed Ferraro. How did it feel?”

His eyes were steady, turning back to the road as cars whipped by us in the southbound lane.

“A quote, but I have no idea from where.”

“
His Kind of Woman
. Nineteen fifty-one. You had to love it. Robert Mitchum, Jane Russell, Vincent Price. Private yachts, planes, and mayhem.”

“My God, James. Sixty years ago. Black-and-white for God’s sake. I bow to your knowledge.”

He nodded, a smile forming on his lips.

“I have a soul in the history of cinema, Skip.” Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he said, “It may not be relevant to what’s happening today, but—”

“
What’s happening
?”

“Oh, come on, pard.” He lifted his hands from the wheel. “Rerun. That’s from
What’s Happening
. But it’s a TV show, so it only counts for half a point.”

Damn. I’d been found out.

Mary Trueblood was waiting for us when we got back. She must have seen the truck pull in and she met us in the parking lot while James added oil to the engine.

“Boys, this is getting a lot messier than I thought it would. If you walked away right now I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Mrs. T., we found the Coral Belle.”

Her eyes got big. “Any chance we can find the foundation?” No more thought of walking away.

“The property is empty. Some doctor has it all fenced off, but we can probably sneak in there tonight. We were thinking of maybe taking a couple of shovels and seeing if we can find any sign of a foundation.”

“You want to stick it out?”

James nodded enthusiastically. “Look, we know where the hotel was. That’s a real positive. And someone was killed while they were searching our room, leading us to believe people want to stop the investigation, so it seems we’re on the right track.”

“Okay.” She still sounded skeptical. “What’s your next step?”

“There’s got to be a library in this town. Let’s see if we can find pictures of the Coral Belle.”

Every once in a while James comes up with a good idea.

Kathy Ebert, the library director, pointed us to files and files of newspaper stories, and we sorted them out on a large table.

“There was just one restaurant back then. Look at this.” James pointed to a photograph of The Russell Café. The sign outside boasted Key lime pie and coconut cake.

“And here’s the Matecumbe Hotel. After the storm. That windy sucker knocked one whole corner off the building.”

“But it’s still standing in that picture.”

James studied one page, I studied another.

“There was a post office, a Methodist church, a school—”

I looked up from my page, “and pineapple docks. They imported a lot of pineapples from Cuba, then transported them by train up to Miami.”

“I thought we got most of our pineapples from Hawaii.”

“Check it out, James. Hawaii was thousands of miles away. According to this story, Islamorada imported cheap pineapples and limes from Cuba. Havana and Matanzas, Cuba.”

“Cuba. Who would have thought. We’re getting a history lesson here, brother.”

“Yeah.” History. We were investigating something that happened seventy-five years ago. Something we’d studied in the eighth grade.

“I guess you just loaded the fruit on a boat and brought it into Islamorada.” James looked back at the old news article.

“Unload it at the docks here, load it onto Flagler’s train, and take it to Miami.”

“Looks like it was a big business,” I said.

“And there was a Methodist cemetery.” James pointed to another article.

“There still is,” Kathy said. “The Methodists were insistent that it stay in the same place. They refused to give in to the Cheeca Lodge, so right there, by the swimming pool and the beach, is a home for dead people.”

“It still exists?” I couldn’t believe that people would tolerate a cemetery in the middle of a resort.

“It does. The Pioneer Cemetery.”

My cell phone buzzed and I grabbed for it. Em.

“Hey, Em. I miss you.”

“You miss me where?”

“In my heart?”

“No, silly, where are you that you miss me?”

“Well, we’re somewhere in the Keys. Mrs. T. didn’t want us to tell anyone about our mission and—”

“Skip, I got a letter today regarding Mary Trueblood and you.”

“What? Me and Mrs. T.? She’s a little old for me, Em. And besides, nobody gets letters anymore.”

“I did, Skip, and it isn’t funny. The letter is unsigned, and it scared me.”

“What did it say?” I couldn’t imagine someone writing Em and saying that I was having an affair with—

“It said that all the gold in Islamorada couldn’t save you if you didn’t abandon your treasure hunt. You, your partner, and Mary Trueblood would end up at the bottom of the ocean if you didn’t go back home.”

I was silent for a moment. James was poring over old papers, and Mary Trueblood was back at the resort. Was I the intended victim in the room at the Pelican Cove? Did the killer make a mistake and knock down the wrong person?

“Skip?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Someone wants to kill you. Did you hear me?”

“Maybe someone already tried.”

“What do you mean?”

I walked outside the library and got into our truck for privacy. I told her about the murder, about the gold, and about the fenced-in property. I knew it was supposed to be a secret, but I end up telling Em almost everything. Almost. What I don’t tell her, she usually finds out.

When I hung up, I looked across the street. There was the monument that had been built to commemorate the hurricane victims. Three hundred people’s ashes were in that stone structure.

I walked back in, and James motioned me to the table.

“Check it out, amigo. Here’s the Coral Belle. You can see the water about twenty, twenty-five feet from the porch.”

“Yeah. And the southeast corner would be straight across from where we were on that little beach.”

“Skip, if that information, in whatever form it is in, still exists, we seriously might be the first people to find it. Think what that could mean.”

I felt his excitement. This property was vacant and maybe, just maybe, the foundation for that long-forgotten hotel still existed.

“Plan. We go buy a couple shovels, charge them to that dwindling debit card. Then we have dinner, we go over to Rumrunners—that bar at the Holiday Isle—have a few drinks.”

“I like the dinner and drinks part. And charging it all.”

“About three a.m. tomorrow morning we drive down to the vacant lot, scale the fence, and put our shovels in the ground.”

“It sounds like what we should do.”

“Then it’s a plan.”

“Good to go, James.”

“Dude, when is she getting here?”

I gave him a blank stare.

“Come on, man. I heard part of the conversation. I saw the look in your eye. Em’s coming down to give us a hand, am I right?”

“She got a note, James. Somebody wrote her and said if we didn’t drop this project, all three of us were going to get killed.”

“Jesus.”

“Em has good ideas. You know she does.”

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Someone wrote her and said they were going to kill us?”

“They did.”

“What about Mary?”

“
What About Mary
, a movie staring Cameron Diaz, Ben Stiller—”

“Not this time, pally. I’m asking what you’re going to tell our employer?”

“She knows Em. They work out at the same gym. Em’s the reason we got this job.”

“It’s another mouth to feed, Skip. Are we going to have to share the wealth?”

“We’ll worry about it later. Right now, we could use the help.”

“Oh, it’s all right. I get along so well with your girlfriend.”

He didn’t. But I was anxious to see her, and with two separate rooms back at our resort, this could be a good time.

It’s just that I hadn’t seriously planned on someone really trying to kill us.

We picked up two shovels and a big flashlight at the Overseas Ace Hardware on Highway 1. The plump female at the register kiddingly asked if we were digging for treasure. We just laughed.

We headed down U.S. 1, James saying he was surprising me for our evening meal. He’d found a special place. James worked for Cap’n Crab, a fast-food restaurant in Carol City, so his culinary tastes should have been suspect, but he was a culinary major in college. The guy knew good food. He’d picked a restaurant where we ended up having a very expensive dinner.

“Dude, she’s paying for it.”

The restaurant was a place called Ziggie and Mad Dog’s on the Overseas Highway. World famous by the way. Lots of things in the Keys were apparently world famous. Who knew?

“Why did you pick this place?” There were a lot of places cheaper than Ziggie and Mad Dog’s.

“Did a little Internet research back at the library, Skip. Way back, when this was a saloon, they had casino games here. Al Capone even played cards in the back room. Now, one of the owners is Jim Mandich. This guy played for Michigan, then for
the Dolphins. He played in two Super Bowls, seventy-one and seventy-two. When he was with the Dolphins they had a perfect season in seventy-two.”

“This Mandich was Mad Dog?”

“Is.”

“The nickname says—”

“He’s a crazy man. On and off the field.”

That made sense. James Lessor is a crazy man. He tends to gravitate to people like that.

“So we’re eating here because?”

“We can tell people we did. It’s world famous.”

For James it was a magical evening. Apparently Jim Mandich occasionally came into his restaurant and pressed the flesh with the locals and tourists. We saw no signs of celebrity this evening.

I was not alive in seventy-one or seventy-two, and Mandich’s history had no relevance to me. James, on the other hand, wanted to immerse himself in the experience.

Upon arriving back at Pelican Cove, James walked over to Rumrunners, a multilevel, tiki-style building with the main bar on the second level.

I waited for Em. She showed up half an hour later in her new black Porsche Carrera. Em worked for her father, a very wealthy contractor, and she lived on a different plane than I did. She’d offered to get me a job with Dad, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And besides, who would look out for James?

“I missed you.” She kissed me in the parking lot. Then kissed me again.

“It’s only been two days.”

“I missed you.” She kissed me again, and I started to get interested. Em can be a very persuasive girl.

I hesitated to ask, but I did anyway. “What do you see in me? You’ve got so much going and—”

She threw her arms around my neck and pulled my mouth to hers. She kissed me again.

“Shut up and show me our suite. This could be fun.”

With the threat of my demise, I questioned that comment, but the next forty minutes were unbelievable.

“Skip, Em, this is Amy.” He was shouting over the music.

We’d walked over to Rumrunners, hoping to run into James. It didn’t surprise me that he’d made the acquaintance of a young, attractive lady. She had a brief white knit top on and a tan skirt that came up mid-thigh.

Smiling, she nodded at both of us.

“James has told me so much about you two.” She smiled, like we were going to be best of friends.

It was as if James and Amy had a long-term relationship and Em and I were just catching up.