Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) (20 page)

We spoke little during the first half of our ride to Hilton
Head. As we traveled Beaufort’s perimeter, a military convoy slowed our
progress to a tortoise pace. The young men occupying jump seats in the truck
ahead looked more like Boy Scouts than warriors. My perception was a defect of
age. Everyone under thirty looked like a kid these days. When the soldiers
exited at Parris Island, I mentally wished them well. At least they’d complete
basic training before summer’s stifling blanket of humidity settled over the
Lowcountry.

Crossing the Broad River provided enough emotional distance
from the desolate worker camp for us to talk again. Janie broke the silence.
“Maybe this labor crap
is
connected to the murders. Stew’s job took him
to Sands Island. Bet he saw the camp and threatened to report Help-Lease. Could
be they killed him before he could blab.”

Riding shotgun, I turned and fixed Janie with a look
designed to wither.

“Your theory doesn’t explain Bea’s death. She wasn’t exactly
a champion of workers’ rights. Something more lucrative than imported labor is
behind this mess. In these parts, that means drugs or real estate.”

I verbally twisted my neighbor’s arm, a nudge to tell all to
Braden.

Janie sighed. “Okay, I give. Braden, my
friend
wants
me to tell you about some fishy goings on in our real estate office. This goes
against my better judgment and I’m asking you to be a gentleman. If it’s
unrelated to the murders, it’s out of your jurisdiction, right? Personally I
think Marley’s nuts. Gator and Sally aren’t killers.”

“What the hell are you two babbling about?” Braden asked
with heat. “Sounds like my
island liaison
has been holding back.
Somebody fill me in
now
.”

“Okay, chill out,” Janie said and launched into a recital of
suspected hanky-panky from Woody’s unauthorized use of her notary stamp to
Gator’s and Sally’s mysterious funding of Hogsback Island.

When she finished, I added background on the mechanics of
land flip scams courtesy of Aunt May. I also listed the co-conspirator suspects
gleaned from Beaufort gossip. I was now convinced the shady and profitable
appraiser, the foreign mortgage broker, and the down-on-his-luck lawyer were
pawns in the puzzle.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” Braden said. “You’re
convinced a real estate scam is underway and that Kain, the central villain,
somehow cajoled or coerced Gator and Sally to dance to his tune.”

He looked my way. I nodded without speaking.

“Doesn’t wash. Why would Gator and Sally go along? Every
land flip has a foreseeable end, inevitable discovery, right? To profit, the
crooks have to skip before mortgages start to default. It would take one hell
of a big payday to make it worthwhile for Sally to disappear when she has a
kid, family. And, once Bea was killed, why would Gator keep his trap shut?”

I didn’t respond immediately, figuring a few moments of
silence might dial down the emotional temperature. Keeping my mouth shut for so
long about a potential subplot clearly pissed Braden off.

“Maybe Gator and Sally got sucked in gradually—like tar babies,
one greedy hand at a time. By the time Bea was killed, the message was clear.
If they talked, they were next.”

Braden glowered. Though angry, he’d calmed. “Okay, it’s a
theory. But we don’t have a shred of evidence that Gator or Sally ever met
Kain, let alone got into bed with him.”

Janie chuckled. “Good metaphor, or is it a simile? If
nothing else, maybe we’ll find out tonight what type of bedmate Kain prefers.
What do we have to lose?”

***

Perhaps we’d all begun to think about our losses. Whatever the
reason, a funk—and silence—descended. My own thoughts migrated from Kain to
Braden. Did we have a future? Did I want one? I speculated on his “Yankee
women” barb. Did he see me as too willful? If so, I gave our relationship the
longevity of a fruit fly—despite the amazing sex.

At seven o’clock we crossed the soaring bridge over Skull
Creek and touched down on Hilton Head during the prime feedlot hour. But luck
was with us as we claimed seats at one of the island’s popular eateries.

Our table offered an impressive beach view. Though night had
fallen, we could still see the white froth of the breakers and hear the
rumbling surf. On the flat horizon, a shrimp boat with its arms locked upright
looked like an angry bull, its metal horns ready to charge the sea. We could
see only one of the boat’s running lights—a fierce Cyclops’s eye.

The waiter took our drink orders. I requested an O’Doul’s,
and my tablemates seconded the motion. Though a belt of hard-core booze had
definite appeal, nonalcoholic beer seemed wiser given the night’s mission. We
needed our wits—or what passed for them. We voted unanimously for the house
specialty, Frogmore Stew, and devoured the Lowcountry mélange of shrimp, spicy
sausage, potatoes, onions and corn in no time.

We kept the conversation light until our plates were
empty—edibles gone and shells and corncobs flung in a tin bucket sunk in the
center of the table. Janie gabbed the most, telling amusing stories that poked
fun without transforming Dear’s inhabitants into caricatures. Braden smiled in
spite of himself. My neighbor was good company if you weren’t on her black
list.

With time to spare after dinner, Braden ran Janie by her
sister’s condo so she could drop her suitcase in the foyer. She’d already
shared her intention to help April close up, freeing Braden and me to leave the
club whenever we wanted. Next, Braden checked us into our hotel and schlepped
our overnight bags to our room.

We reached April’s club a few minutes after eight o’clock. Braden entered ahead of Janie and me. Five minutes later, my neighbor and I
staked out a two-person table six feet away from his seat at the long bar.

The night spot—Shore Leave—was a far cry from my
expectation. Warm, pleasing lighting made it easy to read patrons’
expressions—mostly smiles. April must have spent a fortune on acoustics, too.
If Kain did talk to me, he could whisper and I wouldn’t miss a word.

Large watercolors in spare wood frames decorated Shore
Leave’s cream walls. The artwork celebrated the sea and human forms. The
tributes were sensuous not graphic. Wax held thousands of tiny seashells
prisoner in the candles topping the mahogany tables clustered around the
performance stage. Flickering shadows danced merrily across the polished wood.
The club was, well…classy.

Janie promised our trio wouldn’t stand out. She was right.
April did not cater to a strictly male audience. The atmosphere was comfortably
cordial, the clientele upscale. Like many South Carolina retail establishments,
I noticed this one posted a leave-your-concealed-weapon-outside reminder at the
door. I hoped Kain read English as well as he spoke it.

The deputy nursed a dark Samuel Adams beer as he chatted
with a middle-aged man on the adjacent stool. I automatically frowned when
Braden paused to flirt with the young, top-heavy barmaid.

Though small, Shore Leave had an open floor plan with no
side rooms or confessional-style banquets for lap dances. It didn’t take long
to scan every face and verify Kain’s absence. April sashayed over and greeted
us with hasty cheek kisses. A few years older than Janie, she clearly shared
her sister’s screw-you mindset.

“Hey, Sis. Marley. Welcome to Shore Leave. It’s a class
joint, huh?” She flashed a smile my way. “What’d you expect, a condom dispenser
at the front door? Wait’ll you get a load of our new belly dancer. Muscle
control like that and I could seduce Prince Harry.”

Her laugh tinkled like a bell. “Your pigeon hasn’t arrived.
Usually comes in alone a little after nine. You have a prime spot to watch the
door.”

“Are any of his former dates here?” I asked.

She grinned conspiratorially. “Nope. But I’ll keep an eye
out. If I see one, I’ll introduce her to your deputy. He’s cute. I’d be glad to
tell him my sexual preferences.”

April glanced toward a group of arrivals. “Got to play hostess.
Will check with you later. Drinks are on the house.”

At nine-twenty, Kain swaggered in. When our eyes met, he
made a beeline for our table. My stuttering heart hammered my ribs.

“Marley, isn’t it? You do turn up in the most unusual
places. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. And here I was thinking
I’d need to engineer our next meeting.”

His smug smile hinted at an inside joke. That’s when an old
Gullah proverb flashed through my mind: “Every grin teeth don’t mean laugh.”

“May I join you?” Kain bowed slightly.

Shore Leave’s muted lights flattered the handsome man. I
guessed him to be ten years my junior, fairly close to the big 4-O divide.
Blond highlights shimmered in his thick brown mane—a Clairol ad man’s dream.
Yet his cruel mouth and haughty manner brought to mind the actors who played
Nazi S.S. officers in vintage World War II flicks. His chiseled features
projected no hint of humanity.

I hadn’t answered Kain’s request to join us. An
under-the-table kick from Janie forced me to focus. My friend lifted an eyebrow
in an unspoken question:
What the hell should I do?

We hadn’t scripted this scenario. “I’d welcome the company.”
I returned Kain’s smile. “Especially since my friend has to leave. Please, have
a seat.”

Though I purposely made no introduction, Janie vacated her
seat with a curt, “Nice to meet you.” I vowed not to tell the creep anything I
didn’t want him to know.

Janie nervously fluffed her pageboy. “Be back in a few
minutes.”

Kain leaned in so close his hot breath assaulted my ear. “I
hear Janie Spark’s quite the strumpet. Did she have those inclinations before
her hubby started screwing her little sister?” His tongue snaked over his lips.
“Maybe we should convince her to stay. I do enjoy a spirited ménage à trois.
Older women, if they’re as well preserved as you, my lieutenant colonel, are
quite the treat. So keen to please. Especially widows who’ve tired of their
dildos.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. Feeling simultaneously slimed and
flabbergasted, I checked a strong impulse to smack the guy. I’d planned to
surprise Kain, put him on the defensive. In seconds he’d turned the tables,
letting me know he could pen unauthorized biographies of Janie and me, complete
with sexual footnotes.

How and why had Kain checked us out?

I recalled his attempt to pump the Sea Watch maître d’ for
my last name. The Dear Island sticker on Donna’s car could have given him a
place to dig for dirt. Other inquiries—undoubtedly on Dear—bore fruit. He knew
my name, rank and, for all I knew, serial number. My uncommon first name
probably simplified his research.

That didn’t explain why he’d probed Janie’s past. She swore
they’d never met.

To buy time, I countered his sexual innuendo even though the
gambit made me want to gag. I decided to let him know I could be clairvoyant,
too. “Well, Mr. Dzandrek, on behalf of older ladies, I should point out that
we’re quite particular about our sexual partners.”

Kain smiled, though his eyes held all the warmth of a black
hole. “Oh? And I’d heard you were screwing that deputy seated at the bar. Does
the hotel room Deputy Mann booked for the two of you have twin beds? The cop
seems very ordinary, no imagination.”

To any passersby, his tone communicated light-hearted
banter. His cold eyes spoke of darker emotions. He seemed disappointed when his
barbs failed to provoke an outburst.

I sat stone-faced, unwilling to give this bully the
satisfaction of revulsion or fear. I sensed these were the responses he prized.
Kain’s forefinger lightly stroked my arm. While I could censor my words, my
body’s response to his icy touch proved beyond my control. Goose bumps erupted
along the route of his caress like welts rising from the lick of a whip.

Concentrate
. I knew how and why I’d come to Kain’s
attention, but why had he dug into my neighbor’s background? And how did he
know about a hotel room Braden booked a few hours ago? Did he have us under
surveillance?

Kain spoke. “A lot of turmoil has come into my life since
our chance meeting. Your police have questioned me not once but twice. I’m a
private man. I fear your insinuations and nosiness are to blame. I won’t
tolerate meddling.”

He grabbed my wrist and squeezed for emphasis. “When I was a
boy, I ate moldy bread, fought dogs for meat that had gone green. Now I’m
wealthy. How do you suppose a Pole like me gets rich, eh? It’s not attending
Northwestern.”

His allusion to my alma mater was more theatrical window
dressing. He’d made his point. I chanced a furtive glance toward Braden. Had he
seen our villain claim his seat?

“A pity.” I shrugged. “Northwestern is a good school.”

Kain released the grip on my wrist. “I believe in education,
and I love to study language. Want to know how I mastered English? Word games.
When I meet someone, I repeat the name, and connect it with a catch phrase.
Since you’re a colonel, I might associate you with…oh, I know…Kentucky Fried
Chicken. Get it? Colonel Sanders.”

His chilling nonchalance provoked the desired effect. My
bowels turned to ice water. The freaking psycho just boasted he’d authored the
leave-behind murder notes and the spray-painted epitaph intended for me. I
doubted Kain had
written
those notes or killed Bea and Stew with his own
hands. He’d merely dictated the messages and his surrogate killer’s MOs.

The sick bastard was directing Dear’s murder play and
taunting me, implying I couldn’t do a doggone thing to stop his production. His
carefully chosen words could be interpreted innocently. Even if I’d been
wearing a wire, he’d admitted nothing.

“An interesting game.” I feigned indifference. “Do you have
a similar affection for weapons, say electronic control devices? I hear a new
long range stunner has become quite popular in your old stomping ground.”

“You do say.” He tapped a finger absently against his lips.
“There’s always that nagging problem with weapons—they can be turned against
their owners. I’ll bet you’d be highly embarrassed if someone fired your gun at
you.”

My Irish temper flared
. Two can play this game.

A waiter stopped at our table. “May I get you something,
sir?” Kain’s striking profile and projection of wealth hadn’t escaped the
junior barkeep’s notice.

“Yes, please. A martini—stirred not shaken.”

With a tee-hee, the waiter sped on his way.

“I confess I can be a bit of a ham. But I do have a James
Bond aura, don’t you think?”

No way, you pile of gussied-up manure
.

Repulsed by his cat-and-mouse game, I decided to lay down
some verbal covering fire. Maybe I’d smoke out a reaction that would lead us
down a promising investigative path. “I hear times are tough for ex-patriots,”
I began. “Especially those who exploit orphans. That might prompt an
imaginative entrepreneur—someone with your brains—to choreograph a land flip.
You know, mortgage fraud as diversification—multiple product lines?”

Kain took the salvo in stride. He even chuckled. “My, my,
what an imagination.”

I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Now me, I’d never try a
land flip. Too many mouths to keep shut if the plan goes south. Say, if I tried
a land flip with Emerald Cay, I’d need to rope in Dear’s developers, plus a
mortgage broker. Oh, by the way didn’t one of your countrymen just set up shop
in Beaufort? Then I’d need an appraiser with a murky past and a compliant
attorney. I imagine one with financial woes wouldn’t ask many questions.”

Kain’s complexion signaled I’d scored direct hits. His ears
turned scarlet. Dots of red sprang high on his cheeks, making it look as if
he’d been lit up with laser scopes. His hands curled into fists. I reckoned he
was dying to beat the snaffle out of me. Too bad there were so many pesky
witnesses. I’d drawn blood. The scent made me greedy.

“I’ve taken a keen interest in real estate,” I added. “In
fact, I intend to visit the courthouse daily to check Emerald Cay title
transfers. If I spot irregularities, I’ll pass the word. Nice thing about being
retired. I can pursue any passion wholeheartedly. And I have two passions
now—monitoring real estate deals and finding evidence to fry one psycho
killer.”

My pent-up rage spent itself in a quavering crescendo.
“Retirement’s been a tad boring. Now I have a new lease on life, a mission.”

The waiter sidled up to the table with Kain’s drink. He gave
the raving madwoman—me—a wide berth. I panted as if I’d just finished a
marathon.

“Here you are, sir,” the waiter said timidly.

“Thank you,” Kain replied with a wintry smile. “Afraid I
can’t stay. I’ll pay my tab now.”

He placed a twenty on the table. “Keep the change,” he said
coolly. The waiter grabbed the bill and scurried away.

“You’re quite the conversationalist, Marley.”

I had to give the guy credit: his teeth still flashed in an
ersatz smile.

“What passion and imagination. Too bad you don’t have any
idea what you’re talking about. Nonetheless I’d rein in your wild accusations.
They might provoke some psycho to bully you. If he had a defective personality,
he might threaten those near and dear to you—your step-kids, your sister, your
nieces and nephews. And, just for fun, he might hint about starting closer to
home so you could watch. With a neighbor, perhaps?

“Ah, Deputy Braden Mann’s headed our way. My cue to leave.”

Leaving his drink untouched, Kain rose and strode briskly
toward the exit. He was out the door before Braden reached our table.

“What happened? What did the SOB say?”

I bit my lip, willed my erratic heartbeat to slow. “He’s our
killer, but the bastard didn’t incriminate himself. Give me a sec to find Janie
so we can talk.”

Kain’s not-so-subtle threats shook me. If my big mouth
placed my own life at risk, I could accept it. Putting others in danger was
something else. I elbowed my way across the club to where Janie perched on a
stool, gossiping with April. “The ladies room,” I said, “now.”

My neighbor started to frame a smart-ass reply, then my
expression registered. “Sure.”

In the restroom, I checked under stall doors to make sure we
were alone. “Janie, I don’t know how or why, but Kain ran a background check on
you. He knows about your marriage. He knows you, uh…play the field. His parting
shot was a threat to hurt you—and other folks I love—to punish me, shut me up.
I believe him. He’s one evil bastard.”

For once, Janie was speechless—no wisecrack comeback. She
looked scared.

“We’re changing tonight’s plans,” I continued. “You’re
staying at the hotel with Braden and me. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Braden won’t be happy,” Janie replied. “Three’s a crowd.”

Kain’s nauseating reference to a ménage à trois assaulted my
brain. Sweat popped out on my forehead and my hands trembled like forgotten
November leaves. “Don’t worry about Braden. He’ll understand.”