Pier Pressure (18 page)

“That's exactly the way I feel about it. Private. The police never found who shot your mother?”

“Yes. They did. The guy's doing time up north—a lifetime of time. Before they caught him, they questioned dozens of people, but everyone had an alibi of sorts.”

“I suppose the police'll be around, asking for my alibi for last Saturday night,” Otto said.

Otto, too, was making it easy for me to learn some answers. “I'm surprised they haven't already questioned you.”

“Oh, they have, but I know they'll return, asking for more answers.”

I studied Otto carefully. “You mean they've asked you for an official statement?”

“No. How about you? The one who finds the body…I thought…”

“I've no alibi. I was home on Georgia Street alone. Do you remember where you were?”

“Barely. At home, I think, but I was so zonked on drugs, I don't remember for sure. Anyway, I woke up at home in my own bed on Sunday morning.”

“That the story you're going to stick to if the police query you again?”

“Don't know for sure. It might be better to tell them I was home alone. Don't want them searching the house for drugs. I keep a little coke hidden from Shandy. She'd have a fit if she knew. Says she doesn't want any truck with the police. Guess I can keep my stash hidden from the police, too. Any advice?”

“No advice. None.” Otto scared me. Who knew what a druggie might do, a druggie who had good reason to be deeply angry at his former wife? I thought it interesting that Otto felt Shandy expressed more interest in whether the police might find drugs in the house than she did in his health. Maybe she used drugs, too. I cut his treatment a bit short and he didn't seem to notice. He didn't comment or complain. Maybe he still felt hung over. A chill made the back of my neck tingle. I wondered if I'd just given a foot treatment to a killer.

After Otto left, I put the CLOSED sign in my window, drew the drapery. I stepped over to Gram's shop for an espresso to calm my nerves although Nikko always said that caffeine only made a person jumpy.

“Gram, are you going to close shop for the service?”

“Who say I go to service? I no say that.”

“You were invited. Beau said so.”

“Then I turn down invite. Margaux no good woman.”

I saw no point in arguing with Gram once she had made her mind up to a thing. I returned to my shop without drinking an espresso. Although a noon whistle blew from a cruise ship, I didn't feel hungry. In two hours I'd be at Margaux's memorial service and I had no idea of how I should dress. I owned nothing black. Black clothes fit poorly into my lifestyle or into the paradise of Key West. I stood in front of my closet shoving hangers this way and that. My usual work garb wouldn't do. No, a khaki jumpsuit wouldn't be appropriate. Nor would the slinky green silk I wore last night with Punt. I could smell it. It still reeked of smoke.

And in addition to the memorial service here in Key West, I had to remember the burial at sea. Beau had insisted that I be aboard the boat that would carry Margaux's ashes to their final resting place. I'd never attended a burial at sea before. My mother's body lay in the Key West cemetery. Would one boat hold everyone who attended the burial? I wished I'd been excluded from that bit of drama.

Finally, I reached to the back of my closet and pulled out a plain navy blue skirt, straight and with a generous back slit I hoped would allow me to board a boat gracefully and without mishap. I found a white blouse, a white belt somewhat yellowed with age, and a pearl choker. I arranged the outfit on my bed and studied it. Yes, I supposed it would do, but it certainly wasn't an outfit I looked forward to wearing. I felt as if I were going to a costume party disguised as a nice girl.

Seventeen

I'D STEPPED FROM the shower when the phone rang and Punt's voice flowed over the line.

“May I pick you up in twenty minutes?” he asked.

“I'd really appreciate a ride.” I smiled at the thought of pedaling across town in a long skirt.

“Nikko's riding with us, too. The mortuary's lending the family a car and placing some reserved parking signs in front of the house. Since we need to carpool to save parking space, I can pull the loaner into the carport and leave on-street slots for others.”

“I suppose Gram told you she isn't attending.”

Punt laughed. “Yes, she mentioned that. I understand her feelings.”

“How many people will be there?”

“A couple dozen—immediate family, close friends, and Dad's life-long business associates. Only a few will go out on the boat. Harley Hubble's invited the heirs to meet at the Hubble & Hubble office following the burial. He'll discuss the highlights of the will for those who're concerned.”

“Oh, my. It's going to be a long afternoon.”

“Agreed. See you in a few minutes. Wish it were under more pleasant circumstances, but maybe there's an up-side to all this tragedy.”

“An up-side?” I had a hard time imagining an up-side to Margaux's death.

“These varied circumstances have pulled us back together, Keely. I like that and I hope you do too.”

“Oh, excuse me, Punt. There's someone at my door.”

“See ya.”

Punt broke the connection and I felt guilty about lying, about cutting him off. Nobody waited at my door. I'd been at a loss for words. Circumstances certainly had pulled us back together, but I wasn't all that sure that I liked it. I had to admit that I'd enjoyed yesterday's afternoon and evening together, but that had been business—avoiding Jude on the highway, checking into Beau's alibi, accepting the reality of the fire. Business.

To be honest, I had to admit that Punt's kisses had aroused a kind of warmth within me I'd almost forgotten. Pleasant sensations. Urgent sensations. But my soul still suffered unhealed bruises from my marriage. I wasn't any place close to being ready for a new relationship. Maybe I'd never be ready. That thought loomed as a strong possibility.

I pulled on my “nice girl” outfit and waited, feeling as unreal as a paper doll wearing an outfit cut from a Sears catalog. Nikko came down from his apartment with Moose at his side on a leash.

“Nikko! You're not taking Moose to a memorial service! I mean…” I leaned to pat Moose's coarse hair and give him a scratch behind the ear. “I don't think it's the thing to do.”

“How many memorial services you been to lately?” Nikko kept Moose at his heel.

“None, of course, but…”

“Not to worry. Moose's my partner. Where I go, Moose goes. We're a package deal.”

Punt double-parked the loaner in the street, leaned over, and opened the passenger door for me while Nikko and Moose climbed into the back seat. As usual, car horns blared as we delayed the drivers behind us. Some, risking head-on collisions, managed to pass us, but others depended on their horns to express their sentiments.

“Thought we were going to Grinnell Street.” Nikko leaned toward the front seat as Punt turned the car in the opposite direction.

“Dad decided to hold the service in the garden at Ashford Mansion.
He had originally planned on Grinnell Street, but there isn't enough room.”

Punt made no further explanation and it surprised me that Beau would hold a memorial service for his second wife at the home he and his first wife had shared for a quarter of a century. It was none of my business. The garden at Ashford Mansion
offered more room, so I supposed that explained Beau's choice.

Punt drove into the carport when we reached the house and helped me from the car while Nikko and Moose exited from the rear. An attendant from the mortuary greeted us and showed us to our seats. Had he raised an eyebrow when he saw Moose? I wasn't sure. But he said nothing about the dog.

White lawn chairs had been arranged in a wide semicircle beneath the palms. To one side sat a round table draped with a white linen cloth that brushed the grass. Someone had set two white tapers in burnished brass holders on either side of Margaux's gold-framed portrait. A dozen or so of the well-known books she had edited lay in front of the photograph. Everything looked stiff and proper as a gentle trade wind sighing through the palm fronds wafted the scent of candle wax toward me.

On the other side of the circle of chairs stood an electric piano—a white one. White drop cords partially hidden in the grass snaked across the lawn to the house. I wondered where they'd found white drop cords. The only ones I'd ever seen were brown or orange. I pulled my thoughts from such mundane details when a pianist eased onto the bench and began softly playing hymns. “Amazing Grace.” “The Old Rugged Cross.” “In the Garden.”
I hummed along when I heard “In the Garden.”
It'd been one of my mother's favorite hymns.

We were the first guests to be seated and that pleased me. I'd rather watch others arrive than to have them watch me arrive, especially since I felt ill-at-ease wearing clothes I so seldom chose. Nikko took a chair next to me and Moose lay quietly beside him. Jass joined us, as usual wearing green—long flowing skirt and hibiscus-print shirt.

When Consuela approached us, I hardly recognized her. The Cuban bombshell did own ordinary clothes. Gone were her Cher imitations, her jingly bracelets. She wore a gray silk pantsuit with matching sandals and no jewelry at all except for small button-type earrings in silver gray.

Other guests began arriving so quickly I lost track of them until they settled in their seats. Otto and Shandy. Detective Curry. Detective Winslow? I didn't see her anywhere. Curry's presence surprised me. Maybe he'd invited himself. I gave an involuntary gasp and reached for Nikko's hand when Jude strolled in and sat at the other end of the semicircle.

“What's he doing here?” I whispered.

“Probably representing Hubble & Hubble.”
Nikko squeezed my hand. “Not to worry. Ignore him. Make no eye contact.”

Other people arrived claiming the rest of the chairs. Some of them I knew. Others I didn't. Then a minister, Reverend Sotto, robed in white, took his place before us, reading scriptures from a white, gilt-edged Bible, then giving such an upbeat eulogy that I almost envied Margaux's being dead. I tried to close my ears to this whole performance. That's what it amounted to—a performance.

During a prayer, I saw Nikko hold his hand close to Moose's nose then give the dog a silent command. Moose rose and began pacing near the circled chairs. Guests who had closed their eyes in reverence didn't notice Moose, but during the prayer, Otto leaped to his feet.

“Get that dog out of here!” he shouted. He held his chair between himself and Moose like a circus lion tamer. Beau hurried to Otto's side, took his arm and quieted him, helped him back into his chair as Moose walked on, paying no attention to Otto's outburst.

The minister continued his lengthy prayer as if nothing unusual had taken place. I wondered, if in seminary, theology students studied Short Prayer 101 their first semester, Mid-length Prayer 201 their second semester, and Long Prayer 301 before graduating into the real world of clergymen. If so, why did they so frequently choose to do the long scene?

Before the prayer ended, Moose passed Otto's chair, and then three chairs farther along, he paused and sat silently at Jude's side. I held my breath until I saw Nikko's unobtrusive hand signal that released Moose from his stance. The dog strolled back to Nikko and lay at his side, looking up until Nikko slipped him a doggie treat.

After the prayer, the minister left his place before the small congregation, Beau thanked the guests for their expressions of sympathy, and the mortuary attendant dismissed everyone. And that ended the service.

“What was the scene with Moose all about?” I whispered to Nikko. I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from Nikko.

“I let Moose sleep with that black sweatshirt last night,” Nikko said. Then he showed me a piece of black cloth he had secreted in his hand. “Moose didn't have to track far to find the source of the scent.”

“So I did see Jude at the fire scene.”

“You were right, but remember, I warned you that such evidence can't be admitted in court. He could have been there for several reasons. Maybe he was just trying to keep track of you, to be aware of your whereabouts.”

“What about the restraining order?”

Nikko nodded. “He was taking a chance by ignoring it.”

That didn't matter to me now, but it did matter that I knew Jude had probably started the fire. He'd done it to frighten me, of course. More important, he'd done it to try to make me look guilty, or at least to point up the fact that I was closely connected with two major disasters.
I'll see you dead.
Jude's long-ago threat still hid in my mind, haunting my thoughts.

Beau had asked the people invited to the sea burial to remain behind—five of us. Beau, Punt, Jass, the minister, and me. Beau drove us bayside to Seaview Marina where he moored his boat.
Margaux's Dream.
The name gleamed in gold and black on the yacht's white stern.

A dockmaster had readied the craft and I felt the narrow walkway branching off from the cement dock sway on its wooden pilings as we walked along. We waited on the walkway until Beau took his place behind the wheel and invited us aboard. The minister boarded first and then Jass. Punt helped me over the gunwale, and a slight ripping sound told me the slit in my skirt had increased in length.

We sat on the cushioned seats around the gunwale while Beau maneuvered the yacht from its berth, easing it at no-wake speed from the marina and then into the harbor. Would I get seasick? Suddenly I worried. I'd never been seasick in backcountry shallows, but a ride in the open sea might be a different story.

“How far are we going?” I whispered to Punt.

“It's twelve miles or so out to the reef.”

He slipped me a Dramamine, but I knew it probably wouldn't help at this point. Seasick pills have to be swallowed an hour or so prior to the time of need. I had no water to wash it down so I held the pill under my tongue, and after awhile it dissolved, emitting bitterness throughout my mouth.