“Okay Cap . . . P.T. Barnum said, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’ You, my love, are the living embodiment of that tome of wisdom. Make sure you have your cell charged. I want you to check in with me every hour. Call Frank. Tell him about your foolhardy scheme. Maybe he can have a patrol boat or the Coasties nearby if you need them. Hell, do what you have to do, my beloved Knight Errant.”
I shook my head and took a heavy hit of Evan Williams. I promised to make the calls. She obviously wasn’t satisfied, but at least she was quiet. For Sunny that, in itself, is an accomplishment.
The hamburgers on the grill sizzled and spit a scent of rich beef. If this was my last meal, at least it would be a good one . . . and I wasn’t going to beat myself up for scoffing up the French fries.
There wasn’t much conversation the rest of the evening. We ate. The debacle didn’t much affect Sunny’s appetite, but then nothing does. She wolfed down two monster burgers and I was lucky to even get any of the fries. Meanwhile the Cab flowed. She finally gave me a rather nasty look and shook her head. Then she headed up the dock. I checked my Taurus .38. She was clean and loaded, five slugs in the cylinder. I place it under a ragged t-shirt in the nav station. It would be quick and easy to get to, not to mention deadly, if the situation called for it.
Chapter 17
I left about seven the next morning. I wanted to cover the 40 miles to Newfound and have the anchor down by late afternoon. On the way I made my calls to Frank and checked in with Sunny. She was still in a foul mood, but hell, I was at sea. Frank promised to alert the Coast Guard and fill them in on the basics of my ill-advised plan . . . if that’s even what it could be called. I could tell by the tone of Frank’s voice he thought I was an idiot. So it goes. Not the first time. He knew that, too.
The day was magnificent. 10 to 12 knots out of the southeast, not much in the way of swells. KAMALA was flying full canvas and making a steady six to seven knots over the ground. She pranced like a Kentucky Derby winner, proud and strong, headed for the finish line, even though we still didn’t know where that line was. I sipped a couple of Ice House and ate some sardines and peanut butter on saltines. It tasted mighty damned good. I was in Newfound just across from Little Palm, anchor down and set by three. It was hot, but the breeze cooled the furnace and KAMALA waltzed at anchor like the lady she is. I checked the dock with the binoculars, but nothing but the usual . . . at least until around four. She appeared and waved, looking like a lost child on the first day of school waiting for the bus.
I stepped off the stern and piled into my Achilles. The outboard fired up on the first pull and I was off to meet the lady. I still wasn’t sure why.
She wore a large brim straw hat with her hair tucked up underneath. Massive, black rimmed sunglasses. I thought I recognized them from a Prada display I’d seen in a window on Duval Street. As I got closer I could see wisps of the blond silk trying to escape in the breeze. Very short denim cut-offs and a yellow linen top that teased around her breasts. Blue paisley Tevas on browned feet, the toes freshly painted a bright pink, fingernails to match. She was wearing the Cartier. She glanced at it as I drove up to the dock. I guessed time was important to her. A small blue bag hung limply from her wrist.
She hesitated a minute, then climbed into the dinghy.
“Thanks, T.K.” she almost whispered, keeping a healthy distance between us. I pulled up to the boarding platform of the O’Day 31 and she stepped up onto the boat. I pushed the engine kill switch and tied the painter to the stern cleat. She sat down in the cockpit and took the hat off her head. The yellow locks fell around her face. She shook her head and brushed them back with an insouciant wave. There were dark orbs under her eyes, but her skin glowed like a pagan goddess in the sun.
“I need a drink. Something strong. You probably do, too. It will be hard for you to believe me, but I all I want is an open mind. I know how you felt about Chris. I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t poison you, but I know who did, and I know why. I guess it’s just time to make things right.”
I stepped below and pulled out a fifth of Evan Williams. She watched and nodded.
“Just ice,” she said. I filled her request and then mixed myself a strong one.
“Maybe we should go below,” she said, “they might be watching.”
We went down the companionway. The temperature was fine. All of the hatches were open and I had the DC fan running. The breeze was fresh and salty. She sat on the settee and crossed her legs. She took a sip of the bourbon and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. There would be no invitations to seduction this time.
“Okay, Holly, or should I call you Miriam?”
“Suit yourself. Either one works,” she said with a hint of irony in her voice. “You know a lot of the story. I did con the old man, Foreman. Actually he was kind of sweet in his own way, treated me great, and the millions from the tool business made him all the sweeter. If I wanted it, all I had to do was say the word. He called me ‘Princess’. Jewelry, resorts, the best people . . . they were all at my feet. I admit I did persuade him to change his will. Those damned kids of his, Mercer and Estelle, were a matched pair, bastard and bitch, spoiled beyond any redemption and greedy as hell. They thought it would all be theirs and little Miriam could live in the trailer park and drink Roma Rocket. They only made one mistake. They thought I was too dumb to figure it all out. I wasn’t. When the old man died, I was actually distraught. He loved me in his own way and he showed it. Plus, I had the money.”
“You know there was talk . . . “
“Yeah . . . mostly planted by them. When they found out they were getting pennies, they contested the will . . . fed the rumor mill in Palm Beach. ‘Screw the little gold digger. She killed him for the bucks’. But it didn’t work. They hired a private investigator, big black guy who had a reputation for getting results, no matter what it took. But I was clean. Still, I blew it. I’d never seen that kind of money, never had the kind of freedom it bought. I just figured it would last forever. I had my own attorney, Malcolm Parker. I listened to that sonovabitch too much. But the truth was I had to have the estate. I felt like I’d earned it.
Mercer and Estelle and their dusky go-boy had uncovered some interesting details about the old man’s finances and my past. Stuff I didn’t know they had, photos, old videos, and other stuff they said could send me to jail for a long time. I was scared . . . started paying them . . . thousands at a time. I withdrew the money in sums of less than ten thousand so the bank wouldn’t have to report it to the IRS or anybody else. But the pile of green was getting smaller and smaller. So now I was a junkie, bleeding cash to those pricks. Malcolm had some contacts, some info. I don’t know where he got it, but it led to Chris. I guess I was already a whore in my head -- maybe even in my heart -- so what difference would one more scam make? At least this time I didn’t have to blow anybody.”
A couple of times a tear formed at the corner of her left eye and a sob seemed permanently stuck in her throat. But she cleared it and swiped at the eye with the Cartier fist. If she was lying, it was Oscar-worthy, Emmy award winning and deserving of any Tony on the planet. But the expert liar always mixes a bit of truth in with the fabrications, then convinces herself it is all true. I had to remind myself that she was exactly that expert.
“You said they’d kill you if they had the chance. You’ve gotta have fifty mill or so in the bank. Why kill the goose who lays the golden egg?”
“There’s a clause. I don’t understand it all . . . legalese and all that shit. If anything happens to me, the remaining estate reverts to the original heirs. That’s them, Mercer and Estelle, I guess. I don’t have any family left, so they could put it all in their baskets and do a happy dance.”
Now here was the poor little orphan minus the red curls. Daddy Warbucks had left her a fortune and she was in danger. What did she expect me to do? And when I’d done it, what were the chances I might mysteriously disappear? Too many questions. Not enough answers. I watched her close
ly and remembered my loaded friend hiding under the t-shirt in the nav station. I decided to wait. Maybe the next installment would come if I was patient. I went to the galley and freshened my whiskey. I lifted the bottle and she handed me her glass.
She breathed heavily, and sipped the Evan Williams, but she seemed lifeless. She stared at the table, but I saw her raise her eyes when she thought I was distracted . . . checking me out. She wanted a reaction . . . a sign to let her know if it was time to go on, change her tactics, or just leave me to stew in my own confusion. There was one other possibility I had to consider . . . it was all the truth. We’ve all done some things we regret . . . things we’re actually ashamed of. The ghosts rattle the chains in our heads, but when the survival mode kicks in we all become savages. Morality and honor become luxuries we can’t afford. There’s no black and white when your only priority is to continue breathing . . . and for some . . . spending. We sat for a few more minutes. It reminded me of that game you played when you were a kid. The first one to blink is the loser, but it made no difference. There wouldn’t be any winners in this perverse game.
Chapter 18
Suddenly I heard a loud thump on the hull, as if something had crashed into the fiberglass. I grabbed the Taurus from the nav station. I wasn’t expecting any company that wasn’t already aboard, and my senses were stoked on the adrenaline surging through my veins.
A man stood rocking in a 13 foot Boston Whaler. I listened to the Merc 8 HP chatter in a familiar cadence. I half expected to see Malcolm Parker, but the face wasn’t that familiar, even though I thought I’d seen it before. He held on to the coaming of KAMALA to steady the small runabout. His right hand was at his side. He smiled and raised it. A dark gray pistol was pointed at my chest. It looked like a .45. Maybe the answer to my confusion was close at hand. At that range, the slug would blow a hole in my chest big enough to drive a semi through.
“Place the gun on the deck,” he said. “Be very slow and very cautious. This thing in my hand could go off at any minute.” He grinned at me like a tiger that had my balls in his mouth and was just waiting to chomp down.
I stood in the cockpit and did as he instructed. I heard Holly behind me coming up the companionway. I scanned the basin. Not another boat in sight, and no one on the docks at Little Palm. I quickly wondered if Frank’s promise to have the Coast Guard nearby was a reality or just a feeble wish I hoped would come true. That’s when I felt the first prick of the cold steel stabbing into the back of my neck. Then things went black.
The sun had set and the darkness covered us like a wet wool blanket. I reached for the penlight I always kept in the coaming compartment. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t dead. I put my hand to the back of my neck. There was a wooden handle with a spike glued in place. My first instinct was to yank it out, but in the haze that permeated my consciousness, I realized if I did, the trickle of blood would become a flood. Somehow the wicked steel had missed my brain stem. The blood had coagulated around the wound. It was probably the only thing that had saved me. I reached for the Taurus. It was where I had left it when the intruder had given his orders. I tried to stand up, but I bumped against something solid, but fleshy.
Holly lay beside me in the cockpit. She had a hole in the middle of her forehead. The crimson was thick and had the consistency of Jell-O that hadn’t quite set. It had run over the floor and into the cockpit drains. I slipped on the sticky fluid as I reached for her wrist. No pulse. Her body had already grown stiff and pale. I stumbled below and turned on the VHF.
“Mayday, Mayday. This is the sailing vessel KAMALA anchored in Newfound Harbor. Request immediate assistance.” I found out later that Sunny had already called them. I had missed my check-in and she hadn’t wasted any time.
The Coast Guard answered and we switched to channel 22. When I told them I had a dead body aboard, they responded rather quickly. Then the darkness sucked me into its black jaws.
When I woke, I knew immediately I wasn’t on KAMALA. The walls were pale green and my eyes focused on a brown figure sitting at my bed.
“T.K. Come on out of it. You’re going to be okay. The x-rays are negative and the wound closed nicely. Good thing the Coasties were around the corner and one of their guys was an EMT. You’ll be here until tomorrow just for observation, but you were damned lucky.”
It was Frank. He had kept his promise and I was alive. That was the good news.
“Here’s the rest of it,” he said grimly. “I’ve got to read you your rights and arrest you for the murder of Miriam Sadowski.”
“What the hell? I didn’t kill her.”
“I know, T.K. But she was shot with your .38 at close range. Your fingerprints are the only ones on the gun. We have the weapon, opportunity, and motive. There will be a patrolman at your door around the clock. You will not be allowed any visitors. When they release you, we’re going down to the station and you’ll be booked.”
“You might as well tell me to have a swell day while you’re at it.”
“Get an attorney, T.K. That’s the best advice I can give you and it’s the only thing I can say at this point.”
“Okay, Frank. I guess I still ought to thank you.”
“Get an attorney,” he said with steel in his voice.
Then he got up and shoved the chair back into the corner. My head wasn’t totally clear. I knew I was probably still sedated. Why not give in? I slept the sleep of the dead, but I guess it just wasn’t my time . . . at least not yet.
I was still a bit groggy the next morning when Frank and the uniforms showed up. No cuffs. Just polite pressure on the arm to point me toward the police cruiser. The scene at the station was right off of one of those bad cop shows. Everyone tight-lipped and pumped up in case the hardened criminal bolted for the door or tried some other foolhardy move. I hadn’t contacted an attorney, but Frank had already talked to a judge. It was a woman I knew from working on a couple of previous cases with the Key West PD. She had agreed to release me on my own recognizance as long as I didn’t leave the area. It’s always nice to know some of the right people, especially if your ass is in a sling. And mine was.
Sunny met me at the station. After the forensics team had done their duty, she and Fritz had retrieved KAMALA from Newfound Harbor. She was sitting in her slip at Land’s End patiently awaiting the return of her captain, i.e., the vicious fugitive that I was purported to be. I stepped on board. I could still see the pink film in the cockpit floor where Holly had died. They had hosed it down, but it lingered. I knew it would fade with time, but I wanted it to be gone. Now.
Sunny followed me and I fired up the coffee maker. A strong cup of Cuban with a dollop of Jameson was definitely in order.
“Well, you got you damned sure got yourself into it this time, T.K. I hate to be the bitch that said ‘I told you so’, so I won’t utter those words.”
“Thanks a lot, my lady love. Your kindness knows no bounds.” She laughed, but just a little.
“So where do we go from here?” she asked.
I told her the whole story . . . the tale -- for whatever it was worth -- that I had gotten from Holly. The arrival of our unexpected visitor . . . the one with the large gun . . . the one I think I may have recognized, and a few other minor details that might come in handy when we began our search.
“Okay sucker, you should have known from the start it was set up.”
“I guess I did, but a part of me wanted to take the risk if we could find out what really happened to Chris.”
“Yeah . . . well now you have an extra hole in your head to remind you that next time you need to be a little smarter, and maybe a little less intrepid . . . perhaps even exercise a little old-fashioned horse sense.”
“Duly noted, my love. Now let’s get on with business. I think I know who put the bullet in Holly’s forehead.”
I turned on my laptop and typed in the name. There were several immediate hits. I tapped the mouse and one Mercer Foreman appeared on the s
creen, smiling as he handed over a check to the Palm Beach Historical Restoration Association.
“That’s the guy.”
Sunny looked at the screen and scowled.
“So Mercer Foreman, the loving son. This is the bastard almost sent you to never-never land? You sure?”
I nodded.
“Next question . . . how do we get him?”
I didn’t know.
Chapter 19
The first step was to find him . . . and his sister, Estelle. I figured she might be sunken up to her elbows in this vicious whirlpool. There was a good possibility Mercer believed his plan had worked. He probably thought I was as dead as a tuna. It wouldn’t take long for him to find out that wasn’t the case, but perhaps we had a sliver of time on our side. I might even be able to trace the Whaler he had used to come to KAMALA to do the dirty deeds. Frank would help. At the very least, I had to place our boy at the scene of the crime. The bottom line was I had to save my ass. I did have a murder charge against me, and friends or not, Frank wouldn’t be able to stall in a case this sensational. There was plenty of evidence to make me look very guilty. Juries are scary. Poor little rich girl murdered, no-good boat bum avenging his philandering friend. Who cared that I had an icepick sticking out of my neck? It might just play. That was a chance I didn’t want to take.
I called Dee.
“I think I can probably tell you where he is almost instantly. Let me put you on hold for a second.”
Actually, it took a couple of minutes, but she was back.
“My buddy in Palm Beach says he’d take heavy odds that the bastard was sipping a Mimosa in his penthouse on the 24th floor of Ocean Towers, a beachfront high rise where the ‘wannabes’ and the ‘already ares’ enjoy a view of the Atlantic that starts at a couple of mill. Of course, that includes twenty-four hour valet parking, and a concierge that can get you a cheeseburger or a plate of Beef Wellington any time of the day or night. Who says you can’t have everything?”
“Not riff-raff like me.” I tried a phony sneer even though I didn’t think it would make it through the cell tower. Then I told her about my episode in Newfound Harbor, the icepick, and the murder charge.