I was sipping quietly when a mountain came in. The hostess flashed that smile again and pointed a pink finger in my direction.
He walked over to the table with a grace you wouldn’t expect from a man of that size. His head was as shiny and black as a polished eight ball. A salt and pepper beard started in a sharp point just below his ear and circled his chin with razor precision. No moustache. He wore a silky gray sport coat over a burgundy polo and a pair of dark slacks. I might as well have been waiting for a modern-day Egyptian Pharaoh.
“Dr. Fleming. Bert Weldon,” he said and shoved a hand like a meat hook in my direction. I figured he could have crushed every bone. The grip was slightly sweaty, warm, and firm. There was a huge hunk of gold on his ring finger. It looked like a class ring, but I couldn’t make out the inscription. The server came and he ordered a Heineken, no glass. His voice didn’t quite suit him. It was soft and almost girlish.
He unbuttoned his coat and reached into his inside pocket. I saw the butt of a large handgun sticking out of a flat black holster on his belt. He unfolded a photo copy of a newspaper article and slid it across the table.
I studied it. The image was grainy and even blurred a bit, but there was no doubt.
“It’s her,” I said, “Holly Adams, Miriam Sadowski Foreman, whatever you want to call her. I assume the man on her arm is Milton, the tool millionaire.”
“You got it. They had donated a tidy sum to the Fine Arts Center and all of the South Florida luminaries were there to fawn over them. He was 65. She was 27. Married for three years, then an untimely heart attack. No autopsy, quick cremation. Nice and neat. Rumor says she inherited something short of a hundred million.”
“So Mr. Weldon, what’s your angle here?”
“Let’s just say I represent some interested parties who feel the will should be the subject of further scrutiny. Not that it makes a lot of difference. She ran through most of it. Now there’s lots of stuff for sale. The Hatteras 65, the eight thousand square foot manse on the ICW, even the private jet. I hear she’s down to a few hundred grand. Sad, isn’t it? How the hell will she get to the French Riviera this year? Fly coach?”
“Does the name Malcom Parker mean anything to you?”
“Actually, it means quite a lot. Three thousand dollar suits, Gucci loafers . . . doesn’t hide the fact that he’s the lowest of bottom feeders. Even the sharks won’t swim with him. He handled probate for Foreman’s will. After the funeral, he and the grieving widow flew off to Bermuda to seek the Balm of Gilead and salve their wounds. It took them a month. That’s lots of rubbing. Then they returned. He went to the club and she went shopping. Oh . . . and there’s one more thing. I think she’s done it before.”
I took another sip of my Bloody Mary and wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. Sunny had been suspicious from the beginning, but I had been sucked in. Maybe it was a “man thing”. Holly was pretty, sweet, and seemed so innocent. Had the woman who’d wept as she spread her dad’s ashes off the stern of my boat killed two, three, maybe more . . . for a big payday? Mistaken identity, coincidence? I remembered Sunny’s words, “I believe in coincidences, I just don’t believe in too many of them.”
I looked at the photo again and shook my head. He tipped the last of the Heineken. We hadn’t even had lunch, but somehow I wasn’t too hungry.
“Keep that,” he said and pointed at the copy. “Let’s stay in touch. And by the way, say hello to Frank for me. We were fraternity brothers at state.”
He placed a couple of twenties on the table. “Expenses,” he said. Then he ambled off toward the door and I ordered another Bloody.
The ride back to Key West wasn’t nearly as pleasant, but what the hell? I had plenty to think about.
Chapter 14
I thought a lot about Bert Weldon. I was willing to bet he and Frank Beamon were cut from the same cloth. He struck me as a bulldog. He had sunk his teeth into the bloody flesh of this case and he wouldn’t let go until he was down to the bone. I would wait. If I didn’t come up with something, I was sure he would. That night it was barbecued chicken, slathered in my own original sauce. Ketchup, yellow mustard, honey, A-1 sauce, and Worcestershire. Mix it to your own taste. The secret ingredient is actually the mustard. You can thank me later. We sipped a bottle of Lost Angels Cab. I know, it should have been a chardonnay or a sauvignon blanc, but we just don’t do the white stuff. I inhaled the sweet smoke and told Sunny about our meeting.
“Actually nothing I wouldn’t have suspected,” she said. “Call it what you want, but there were too many things that weren’t quite right. Now we have to wonder if the “Chris’s long, lost daughter thing wasn’t a clever way to get at the money. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. So it goes. But how did she and Parker find out that he was a trust fund baby . . . and the connection with the mother? How the hell did they know that Chris had a relationship years ago with a nurse in Wilmington?”
“All good questions,” I said, “but behold the internet. It’s the boon and the curse of modern technology. Hell, we’re all naked now. You can find out damned near anything about damned near anyone just by pushing the right buttons. Obituaries, public records, Facebook, Twitter . . . it gives the smart user access to information that might have been buried for eons before the ‘information highway’ so damned easy.”
“I wish you weren’t so damned right, my learned Captain and fearless Ghostcatcher.”
“Okay, Pal. You can cut the sarcasm. Eat your gourmet meal, drain your glass, and prepare to have your body defiled by a washed up college professor in a most energetic and erotic way.”
“Promise?” she said and placed her hands under her chin like an innocent little girl waiting for a peppermint stick.
I kept my promise and I think she liked it. At least that’s how I interpreted the moaning. She left before midnight with the loveliest of smiles and at least a hint of satisfaction. I slept like the proverbial baby, but it didn’t mean I was ready for the next morning.
Chapter 15
He sat at the bar that evening nursing an Absolut over ice. He hadn’t learned much he didn’t already know, but the trip was worth it. The next move was anybody’s guess, but it would come. She sat on the stool one seat away and waited for the bartender. He had to notice her flaming red hair and the emerald green dress that clung to her pert breasts and hips like it was sprayed on. Her face was flawless, the color of blushing porcelain. She crossed her legs and turned a little toward him. She smiled and he returned the favor.
“Buy me a drink?” she asked, almost girlishly.
“I thought that was my line,” he said and grinned.
“Well, I just figured we’d cut to the chase.”
“Sure. Interesting choice of words. What’ll it be?” He signaled the bartender and she ordered a Tanqueray and tonic.
“With a slice of lime,” she cooed. She slid over next to him and turned so that her knee was against his thigh. He felt the gentle nudge and the warmth almost immediately. He knew it was intentional. They sat for a minute without talking.
“I’m happy to buy you a drink,” he said, “and I welcome the company, but just to be clear, I don’t pay for the stuff.”
Her eyes flung daggers of indignation.
“Sorry, but you, sir, have the wrong idea. I am not a hooker. I just don’t like to drink alone. I come in here often. Meet some nice people . . . men and women. I’m an accountant, small firm down near the beach. Seems like every one in here is either twenty-one or eighty. Nice to see someone closer to my age out for a little relaxation, and I was hoping for some intelligent conversation. Nothing more.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but it seemed like the best option at the moment. She was beautiful and he’d know more if he’d let her talk. Her perfume wafted its sweet scent into his nose. It definitely complimented the rest of the package.
“It’ll probably sound like a line, but you look like someone I should know.”
“Ma
ybe I am . . . I mean . . . someone you should know.”
He’d only seen the photographs. He couldn’t be sure. The hair was different, a vibrant red, and the features of the face didn’t quite match. He’d never seen her in person. He just couldn’t be sure, but he could be wary. Anyway, it was his nature. She didn’t seem to have anything arrogant or demeaning in her voice. He might have expected that. Still, he took a stab.
“So how about names? What should I call you? Miriam maybe?”
She looked at her glass and ran her fingers slowly down through the crystal beads. Then she turned and shot hot emerald lasers through his brown eyes.
“Hey, if that works for you, it’s fine with me . . . and you look like a Walter.” He pursed his lips and nodded.
They chatted about nothing, but if anyone had been watching, the quiet laughter and knowing smiles would have suggested a budding intimacy. The man had survived by keeping his radar on full alert. More than once he’d been in the sights of a crazed thug or just a client who didn’t particularly like the way his case had concluded, but the booze and the ravishing redhead beside him were weaving a perverse enchantment. A couple more drinks and a warm glow began to envelop the scene. She raised her glass.
“I guess I’ve had enough,” she whispered. “Time to go home. I’ve got lots of mindless numbers to punch in the morning. Close to tax season and everyone wants their forms filed yesterday. Perhaps you could save me cab fare and take me home. It’s not far.”
“I suppose I could, but maybe you’d like to stop off at my place for a night cap?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t usually go home with men I just met.”
“Sure,” he said and signaled for the tab. He paid with a VISA and tipped the bartender generously.
Once they got in his plain gray Pontiac, things changed. She reached over the console and put her hand on his thigh, rubbing gently, but steadily. He could feel her palm almost touching his cock. It was getting thick and beginning to throb. He pulled into the parking lot under his building, leaving the engine running.
“I’ll take you home. Just say the word. It’s been great, but nothing else has to happen.”
“I think it does,” she said. “I like my men big and dark, and you meet both requirements.” He turned the key and cut off the engine.
In his apartment, he offered her a drink, but she shook her head and began to unbutton her dress. As the green satin began to fall away, the full mounds of her breasts heaved with each breath. She reached behind her chest and unfastened the scanty bra. The nipples were like brown silver dollars, taut and eager for his touch. Then she took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
“Sit,” she commanded.
He settled onto the edge of the bed. She slipped off her heels and let the dress fall gracefully to the floor. A red thong covered all that was left. Her shape would have put J Lo to shame. She knelt, and with nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt. She eased it over his rippled arms. Now the belt. Then she pulled his slacks over his hips. A tiny alarm sounded in his head, but it was too late. His pulse pounded with his need. This deed would be done.
“Give me just a minute,” she whispered.
She disappeared into the small living room and unlocked the front door with a muffled click. She reached in her pocketbook and withdrew the tool. He waited. She came back in, her right hand in the small of her back, and threw herself on top of him, running a supple finger over the thick stubble of his face and smothering his neck and chest with quick flicks of her ripe tongue.
The sex was quick, but relentless. She arched her back and burst into cries and moans that were almost feral. When he came, it was an eruption like a long-dead volcano spewing hot lava and dark smoke. She crawled off him and he almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew there would be more.
There was.
A man in a gray suit cradled a silvery Glock and stood at the foot of his bed. The barrel was pointed at his face. The man focused on her red hair and snarled. “You had to fuck him, didn’t you?” She said nothing.
He held the Glock steady. “Be still or be dead, Cocksucker,” the suit threatened.
The big man sat up, still breathing heavily. Now it was all very clear. He felt the skin prick at the back of his neck and something thick and warm ran down his spine. The gleaming point was almost to his brain, but in his last moments it hit him. Now he had it all figured out.
Chapter 16
I was still a little fuzzy headed when the phone rang. I thought about not answering it at all. Let ‘em leave a message. That’s what we used to do. Sounds silly, but it worked. Still, the sound was insistent, maybe even urgent. I fumbled for it on the side table.
“T.K., get your ass out of the bed.”
“I don’t have to, Dee. You did it for me.”
“Yeah . . . well I got news you don’t want to hear. They found Bert Weldon this morning. He was at his apartment in the bedroom. His body was nude, his boxers, shirt and slacks folded neatly on a chair. He had an icepick sticking out of the back of his neck. It had reached his cerebral cortex. Not even that much blood. Nevertheless, he was very dead. The Medical Examiner found traces of semen on the sheets. She thinks he had recently had a sexual encounter. They’re still working on details . . . a complete forensic sweep, interviewing neighbors, trying to get a lead on any kind of motive. So far not much. Some of the cops in town didn’t like him too much. He was a little too industrious and dedicated for them. Not afraid to call it like he saw it, regardless of who got stepped on. Some of them aren’t weeping. I don’t know how far the investigation will go. A buddy of mine in the Palm Beach PD called me. I’ll give you an update as soon as I have more information. Just thought you’d want to know.”
“I guess I do. Thanks, Dee. I only met him yesterday, but it didn’t take long for me to like him. He didn’t seem like an easy man to take down.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. For now, you’d better watch your ass.”
Okay . . . an icepick. Easy to conceal. Quick and deadly if you knew what you were doing. It sounded like the guy had just gotten laid. Probably a woman, a Black Widow just like the beguiling spider whose poisonous fangs could be so fatal. It was an obvious guess that he was on to something. He didn’t strike me as a man who could be easily tempted, but I’d seen those smiles before . . . the promises they made and the darkness that sometimes followed. You think it’s all under control. It’ll be simple. You’ll get what you want . . . and what you need, but things get hazy. Your judgement has gone south. The risk, the danger . . . they all seep into the background when the soft flesh presses against you and you feel the warm breath caressing your chest. It’s so damned good . . . at least until the steel punctures your neck.
I made a cup of Cuban and doused it with a healthy dose of Jameson. I got my old spiral notebook and a pen. If I could get something on a page, it might get my mind in a place where I could try to make some sense out of this whole ugly business.
Nothing came. Someone had killed Bert Weldon. Someone had killed Chris, and someone had tried to kill me. It all pointed to Holly, aka Miriam, aka Mysteria, or whoever the hell she really was. A good detective always follows the money. That trail was clear. Good looking young woman with expensive tastes and other obvious talents . . . no scruples, not to mention any kind of human morality. Get what you can get and do whatever it takes to feed the monster. Holly was that woman. I was sure of that. I just needed the details . . . some thread to tie it all together so we could get her and put her in a place where the tenants were all like her . . . no more suckers, no more victims, no more dead bodies. Just other guilty inmates locked up in damp gray cells.
So where to now? Frank, Sunny, Dee? I didn’t know. I tried to find something to do with the day. After all, I was the Ghostcatcher. I should be able to figure it out. Well, I couldn’t.
It was almost four when the phone rang. I recognized the voice immediately even though it was one I wasn??
?t sure I’d ever hear again.
“T.K. Don’t hang up. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but you gotta understand. I know what you think. I killed them, and I tried to kill you. But it’s not true. Tell me you’ll meet me so I can explain . . . maybe even get to the people who did it. I know you feel like you can’t trust me, but at least give me a chance. I can’t come down there. I’m sure they’re following me. They’ll kill me if they can. I know too much. Leave in the morning. Sail up to Newfound Harbor. They won’t expect it. I’ll be on the dock at Little Palm. Pick me up in your dinghy. I’ll tell you everything. Please . . . It’s got to be over. I want to live.”
She was right. I didn’t trust her. It had to be a set up. Maybe I knew too much, too. But what else was I going to do? It was a bizarre request, but it was a risk I had to take. I’d prepare. Chris would have done it for me regardless of the danger. If she could provide me with the info I needed to bring it to a close, it would be worth it. If not? What the hell? At least I gave it my best shot.
“I should be there by four unless the weather goes bad. I’ll pick you up at the dock like you say. Remember, I’ve got friends.”
“I wish I could say the same.” She hung up.
When I told Sunny about my little cruise, she looked at me like I had lost my mind. She was probably right. She sipped her ruby Cab and stared at the floor of the cockpit on KAMALA.
“Come on, Cap. By now, the Ghostcatcher should be able to smell a trap from a hundred miles. Sure . . . she gets you in that damned near deserted cove, away from any help or safety. She already damned near killed you with the poisoned whiskey. Now you’re ready to jump right back into her web with no plans, no backup. Hell, she could have a submarine in the basin and a torpedo with your name on it. Get real, T.K. How many times are you going to let Miss Poor and Needy suck you into another abyss? Face it, this could be your last.”
Sunny was right, but that wasn’t unusual. I was being dumb, but that wasn’t unusual either.
“I gotta do it . . . for Chris, maybe just for me. If I don’t investigate every angle to try to avenge his murder, I can’t look in the mirror when I shave in the mornings.”