Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (3 page)

"Did you check out the house in Athens?"

"That's the first place we went. There were some kids living there,
but they told us Peggy had moved out. They didn't know where she'd
gone."

"Do you know where she was staying in Sarasota?"

"No. She told us she would be at the beach, but that's all."

"So, you don't even know if it was a hotel or a rented condo."

"No. Sorry."

"How long are you going to be here?"

"I'm leaving today. I came in yesterday and talked to the Sarasota police, but they're no help. I came out here last night, and finally worked up
the nerve to call you."

"I'm glad you did. You can't stay for a few days?"

"Afraid not. My other stepdaughter Gwen is so upset about her
sister that I don't want to leave her alone for too long. Jeff tries, but she
needs her mother. Me."

Laura had moved on into another life that didn't include me. I
understood that, but I felt left out. She was still part of me, and yet she
wasn't. I was used to that, and my life had moved on as well. What might
have been will never be. Somebody ought to write that on a tombstone
somewhere. Maybe someone had.

"It's moving too fast," she said.

"What is?" I asked, puzzled.

"Time."

"What're you talking about?"

"We're on a collision course with death you know"

"From the moment we're born."

"Yes, but it's coming closer now. Closer than I want to think about."

"We've got a lot of years left, Laura."

"Do you remember when we were young, the day we got married?"

I remembered every moment of it. Sometimes, at night, when I
couldn't sleep, I'd retrieve those memories from back where they live, hidden away like precious gems in the vault of my mind. I'd wade into
them, take myself back to that warm spring day in Orlando, smell the flowers in the church and the slight vanilla aroma of her skin as I leaned in to
kiss her at the altar. I'd hear the swell of the organ as we strode up the aisle
into the rest of our lives. And because I'd be overwhelmed by regret for
what might have been, I'd quietly store them away again, to be brought
out and caressed when my soul demanded a visit with Laura.

"Yes," I said. "I remember."

The waiter appeared and poured us more coffee. The sun was higher
now, its rays more concentrated, heating up the patio. A gull cried in the
distance, a chair scraped away from a nearby table. Then there was quiet.

I said, "I'll see what I can find out about Peggy."

Laura gave me a picture of her stepdaughter taken in a garden on the
day she graduated from high school. "This was taken in June, in our yard
at home."

There was no point of reference that would give me her height, but
she was a lovely girl. Five feet seven, Laura said. Peggy was wearing her
graduation gown and holding her diploma. She was smiling. She had
blonde hair reaching to her shoulders, a nose that might have been a little
too perky for my taste, and good legs below the hem of the robe.

I took the picture and told Laura I'd do what I could. "You realize
this is a long shot," I said. "I'll show the picture around here on Longboat
and the other islands, but the chances of anybody remembering her are
slim."

"I know, Matt. But I don't know what else to do. I'll keep trying to get
the police involved, but I don't think they're going to help. Maybe you'll
get lucky."

We talked a while and drank another cup of coffee.

She looked at me, staring at my face for a long time, long enough that
I was getting uncomfortable. Then she shrugged, as if snapping out of a
trance.

"I've got to go," she said. "I've got a plane in a couple of hours."

"I'll be in touch."

We hugged each other and she left. I watched her walk across the
deck with the languid movements that had always been Laura. She'd never understood how beautiful she was, and she didn't posture with any intent
of evoking desire in men. Her movements were as natural to her as breathing. She was the most desirable woman I'd ever known, and I'd let her
slip away.

We were connected now, if for just a little while. And even if it was a
connection born of her life without me, I would enjoy being a small part
of her universe, like a distant planet circling a warm and seductive sun.

I didn't know it was the last time I'd ever see her alive.

I drove straight to the Longboat Key Police Department's new headquarters building on Gulf of Mexico Drive. My buddy, Bill Lester, was Chief of
Police. I wanted to file a missing persons report.

"Not possible," Lester said. I was sitting across the desk from him,
sipping the coffee his secretary had brought me.

"Why not?" I asked.

"By definition, she can't be a runaway. She's legally an adult. The
fact that she doesn't call home while she's on spring break just isn't enough
to indicate foul play."

"Bill, this girl is in some sort of trouble or she wouldn't be out of
touch with her parents."

"I don't doubt you, but we have to follow protocol. I need more than
the fact that she stopped calling her daddy. Is there any evidence of foul
play?"

"No."

"Then I can't do anything."

I knew he'd help if he could. I thanked him and changed the subject.

I said, "Do you know anything more about the body I found at
Pelican Man's yesterday?"

"No, but let me check with Sarasota PD."

The morning paper didn't have much information. Just a big story on
the front page about the body being found. No identification or cause of
death.

Bill reached for his phone, and after a short conversation hung up
and turned his attention back to me. "They don't know much," he said.
"The autopsy is scheduled for today, but they think he was shot once behind his right ear. It looks like an execution. His prints don't match anybody on file."

"I thought you could just about find anybody today if you had fingerprints."

"You can. If they're in the system. But if the person never served in
the military or got licensed in some occupation that required prints or was
never arrested, he wouldn't be on file. There're a lot of reasons why some
people might never have their fingerprints taken."

"Let me know if you hear anything," I said, and left.

At my condo, I scanned Peggy's picture into my computer, cropped
it so that I had a good head shot, and ran off several 4 x 6 prints. I'd start
at the northern end of Anna Maria Island and work my way south to the
southern end of Siesta Key.

Bartenders have good memories for attractive young women, so I'd
start there. If that didn't turn up anything, I'd try hotels and then the
condos that rented by the week. Maybe I'd get lucky.

I called my friend Logan Hamilton. "Want to do a little barliopping
tonight?" I asked.

"Absolutely," said Logan.

He'd recently retired from his executive position with a financial
services company, telling anyone who asked why he'd quit early, that he
had all the money he needed, and Matt Royal needed a playmate. I explained why we were going.

We started at the north end of Anna Maria, an island connected to Longboat Key by a drawbridge spanning Longboat Pass. Our first stop was The
Sandbar, a restaurant and bar hugging the beach near Bean Point. One
drink and no luck later, we headed south, stopping at each bar, having one
drink, and striking out.

We left the last bar on the south end of Anna Maria, planning to head
home and to bed. Logan suggested that we stop at Pattigeorge's on Longboat for a nightcap. We drove across the bridge heading south to mid-key,
where the restaurant overlooked Sarasota Bay.

The dinner crowd had cleared out, and we were alone at the bar with
Sammy, the bartender.

"What're you guys doing out so late?" Sammy said, as we sat down.

Logan grinned. "Looking for a needle in a haystack."

Sammy put Logan's Scotch in front of him and reached into the
cooler for my Miller Lite. "You trying to get laid again?"

Logan laughed. "Go to hell, Sam. We're trying to find a missing girl.
Matt's ex-wife's stepdaughter."

Sam set my beer on a coaster. "What's that all about?"

I told him about my conversation with Laura. "Peggy was probably
on one of the islands in this area, but we didn't have any luck on Anna
Maria."

"Got a picture?" Sam asked.

I showed it to him. "Good looking girl," he said, handing it back.
"I'd like to meet her."

"Sam," I said, "she's young enough to be your daughter:'

Sam grinned. "Everybody I date is young enough to be my daughter.
Let me see that picture again."

He took the photo to the back of the bar and held it under the light
that hung above the mirror. "You know," he said, "I think I did see her in
here one night. She was with a group of people who sat at the high-top
right behind you."

"When?" I asked.

"A couple of weeks ago, maybe. There were five people, I think. One
was an older guy, and there were two girls and two young men together. I
assumed they were couples out with somebody's dad."

"What else do you remember?" Logan asked.

"Not much," Sam said. "They seemed to be having a good time. The
girls didn't have IDs and were drinking cranberry juice. The guys were
old enough and were drinking mixed drinks. I don't remember what."

"Stretch your brain," I said. "I need anything you can remember."

"I'm not sure why, but for some reason I got the impression they were
staying across the street at the Sea Club. You ought to talk to Chris, the
manager. She'll know if they were there."

The Sea Club is a small condominium complex that rents by the day and
week. It sprawls along a stretch of beach across from Pattigeorge's and
hosts the same guests year after year. During the off-season, Longboat Key
is a small place, and most of the year-round residents know each other.
Chris and Bill, the husband and wife team who managed the resort, are
friends of mine.

"Matt, how've you been?" said Chris, as I walked into the small airconditioned office the next morning.

"I'm fine, Chris. Kind of glad the season's about over."

"I know what you mean. What can I do for you today?"

"A young woman named Peggy Timmons stayed here a couple of
weeks ago. She's the daughter of a friend, and she's missing."

Chris turned to her computer, stroked a few keys, and said, "I don't
have her in the system. Are you sure she stayed here?"

"Sam Lastinger over at Pattigeorge's said she did."

I handed her a copy of the Peggy's picture.

"Sure," said Chris. "I remember her. But she was using a different
name. Came here with a group of people. They took one of the two bedroom units."

"How many people?"

"Five, total. I figured them for two couples and one older guy, maybe
somebody's dad."

"How long did they stay?"

She stroked the computer keyboard again.

"Three days," she said.

"Names?"

"Matt, if it wasn't you, I wouldn't give these names out."

"This is important, Chris. The girl is eighteen and her parents are
worried sick."

A few more strokes.

"Linda and Larry Olsen, Yvonne and Patrick Walsh, and Jake
Yardley. That was the older guy. He paid for everything in cash."

"Do you remember which name this girl used?" I asked, tapping the
picture.

"No. Sorry."

"Addresses?"

"Yeah, but they're probably as bogus as the names."

"Got to check them out."

"I guess so."

She stroked the keyboard a few more times and the printer next to it
came alive, spitting out a single sheet of paper.

"Here you go," said Chris. "The young people all have the same
address in Athens, Georgia, and the older guy gave a Tampa address. The
phone numbers are there too."

"Thanks, Chris. You've been a big help."