Pier Pressure (29 page)

“Car's around back.” Punt led the way. “Let's take it. Your office locked?”

I nodded. “Tell me where we're going. You're being very mysterious.”

As we slid into the Karmann Ghia, I smiled at my mental picture of Mr. Moore trying to fit himself into Punt's convertible. Surely the man had to reserve large-size rentals. The people at Avis and Hertz probably loved to see him coming. I stopped smiling as Punt hesitated before starting the motor.

“Okay, come clean. Did you talk to Mr. Moore about the sweatshirt?”

“No. He felt satisfied the insurance people planned to treat him fairly and that fire inspectors had proved beyond a doubt the fire started in the attic from faulty wiring. After hearing his take on the situation, I agreed. No point in arguing with the fire inspectors or the insurance company.”

“We know Jude had been there.”

“Right, but think back, Punt. On the afternoon before the fire, Jude followed us onto Highway 1, ready to give us a bad time. You outsmarted him with your unexpected turn onto Big Pine.”

“You're saying he hated being outsmarted, right?”

“Right. I think he returned to Georgia Street planning to scare the bejabbers out of me that night after I got home. I could almost read his mind. He may have discovered the fire much as we did—by surprise.”

“You're convinced the fire inspector called it right—faulty wiring?”

“Yes, and so is Mr. Moore. Since Jude's dead, I saw no point in mentioning him.”

“You're probably right.” Punt started the car and headed west, pausing at a corner when a Conch Train loaded with sunburned tourists rattled onto Whitehead Street. Its driver told his passengers that years ago Key West had offered one free hotel—the county jail. I turned off my ears, refusing to listen to his stale jokes, but the tourists laughed along with him.

“Where you taking me?” Punt had turned onto a side street too narrow even for the Karmann Ghia if we met another car. He parked in a slot that seemed to be waiting for us, a slot too small for larger cars.

“This's my new place of business.” Punt pointed to an office with a front barely ten feet wide.

“Fotopoulos & Ashford.”
I read the bold lettering on the window. “You and Nikko are serious about the P.I. business?”

“Of course we're serious and we want to get started right away. Follow me and I'll show you inside our office.” Punt opened the car door for me and I trailed after him into the narrow building, gasping in surprise when Nikko with Moose at his heel came strolling from a back room. The narrow office stretched twenty feet or so to a partition and the air smelled of turpentine and fresh paint.

White walls. Vertical window blinds. Poured terrazzo floors common in Key West twenty or thirty years ago. The austere furnishings consisted of two roll-top desks with captains' chairs, two straight chairs positioned in front of the desks, a four-drawer steel file, and a huge safe bolted to the floor next to the file.

“Good morning,” Nikko said, grinning.

“Good morning, Nikko. It looks as if congratulations are in order.”

Nikko handed me a business card and pointed to a framed certificate hanging on the wall behind one desk. I read the card and walked closer to the certificate. “Nikko Fotopoulos, Private Investigator.” I checked the wall behind the other desk.

“I told you I don't have a license yet,” Punt said, “but I've applied for one and Nikko's going to help me meet the requirements necessary to earning it.”

“Fotopoulos & Ashford,
Private Investigators.” I let the idea roll around in my mind. “It's wonderful, guys. Really wonderful. How soon will you open for business?”

“We're open as we speak,” Punt said. “Have you come to us with a problem, ma'am? We'll expect a retainer, of course.” Punt stepped toward me and put his arm around my waist, pulling me close. “This makes me a working man, Keely. A man with a job.”

I gave Punt a kiss on the cheek before I eased from him and placed a similar kiss on Nikko's cheek. “This's really exciting. Beau said the other day that he might hire a private detective to investigate Margaux's death. Does he know you two are open for business?”

“No,” Punt said. “You and Jass are the first ones we've told.”

“I'm honored.”

“I think Celia suspects we're up to something,” Nikko said.

“Gram always suspects men are up to something. She's uncanny that way. When'll you give her the news?”

“The
Citizen
will carry an official announcement tomorrow,” Punt said. “I'd like to tell Celia and a few others before they read it there.”

“It'll be announced on local TV and radio tomorrow, too,” Nikko said.

“Have you resigned as chef at The Wharf?”
I asked.

“No way.” Nikko grinned. “I love to cook, and a guy hears a lot of talk working at a popular restaurant. We'll need all the contacts we can get. Punt'll keep his eyes and ears open over at Smathers.”

I rolled my eyes at that comment, but I had to admit that Punt probably knew all the locals that hung out at the beach. Sometimes the locals picked up information about newcomers. “You do plan to spend some time in your office, I suppose.”

“Oh, definitely,” Punt said. “Maybe not regular office hours, but at least one of us will be here most of the time.”

“And Moose'll be here all of the time,” Nikko added. “He's going to be our silent partner.”

“Moose has more seniority than I do—for right now at least.” Punt leaned to give Moose a scratch behind the ears. “Don't know if I like playing second fiddle to a dog.”

“Does Moose still remember all his tricks after being in retirement?” I asked.

“No tricks,” Punt said. “Working commands. Yes, Moose remembers. We've been testing him with some potentially dangerous situations, and he's come through for us every time.”

“You've never seen Moose at work,” Nikko said. “Want a demonstration?”

“I'm not sure.” I backed away from Moose. I'd never been afraid of him, but I'd always considered him a pet, never a working police dog. “I guess I really hate admitting he might attack someone.”

“You needn't worry,” Nikko said. “Moose won't attack unless I give him the command. For the most part we'll use him for tracking human scent. That's the focus of his primary training, but watch this. Punt and I were putting Moose through his paces yesterday. Punt, slip on that old sweatshirt, okay?”

Punt stepped into the back room and returned wearing a heavy shirt over his tank top.

“Now here's the scene,” Nikko said. “I've nabbed a bad guy and I'm about to cuff him.”

Punt stood near the window, both hands behind his back. Nikko pretended to start placing handcuffs on his wrists when suddenly Punt turned and began attacking Nikko with his fist.

“Moose!” Nikko called.

I jumped back as Moose sprang at Punt, grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt and brought him to the floor. Swift. Final. The attack ended.

Punt lay quietly in Moose's grip, and Moose held him in place without biting until Nikko's next command released him. Once Punt stood, Nikko gave Moose a doggie treat from his pocket.

“Wow!” I could hardly catch my breath, the attack had seemed so realistic. “How long did it take you to train him to do that?”

“Oh, six months or so. A housewife up north who loves working with dogs gave Moose his basic training. Many dogs flunk out before they get to actual police training, but Moose hung in there.”

Nikko tried to act nonchalant, but I saw pride and confidence in the way both he and Moose all but strutted around the office following their performance. I examined Punt's arm. It showed only a couple of red marks and no broken skin. The sweatshirt had taken the brunt of the attack.

“Maybe Punt needs a dog, too,” I said.

“No.” Nikko shook his head. “Dogs so highly trained have big egos. Two big egos seldom tolerate each other. Moose will be our only silent partner. Want to see another bad guy situation?”

“No thanks. Not today.” I backed away from the dog.

“Well, don't be afraid of Moose. He's the same dog you've known all along. He's a wonderful house pet in addition to being trained in tracking and attacking. From now on this office will be Moose's home.”

“How so?” I eyed Moose warily.

“Give him a pat,” Nikko said. “I don't want you to develop a fear of him.”

Tentatively, I reached out my hand and Moose raised his head to make contact with me. After giving him a few ear scratches, I relaxed. We were still pals.

“You're going to leave Moose here to guard your office?” I asked. “I suppose a guard's a good idea once you get working on some cases.”

“Moose won't be here alone. There's apartment space back of the partition. I plan to move in.” Nikko led the way through the doorway to the back of the building where I saw kitchen appliances, a small bathroom with shower, and adequate space for living room furniture.

“An on-the-scene apartment makes sense,” I said. “No point in paying two rentals when one's enough. I'll miss you overhead at my place, though, and so will Gram. Your presence on Duval always made us feel safe.”

“I'll only be a phone call away,” Nikko promised.

When someone knocked on the front door, we all snapped to attention.

“A customer already!” I said. But no. Nikko opened the door to a man wearing a hat with a phone company logo.

“I'm here to install your phone,” he said.

“Great.” Punt stepped forward. “We'll need private lines to phones on each desk plus one extension to an apartment phone in back. Can you give us a cost estimate?”

I returned to Punt's car, smiling and wondering if it was the first time Punt had ever shown more than a casual interest in the cost of anything. It must have been an effort. When the telephone man left, Punt joined me in the car.

“What do you think? What's your honest opinion of our chances with a P.I. agency?”

“I'm flattered that you think I have the answer to that one.
-
I know nothing about detective agencies.”

“Perhaps not, but you started a business from scratch. You know the ropes—the pitfalls.”

I grinned at him. “Most of my scratch came from your dad—startup money and all that. It took me a while to repay him.”

“We'll have the advantage of my trust fund for startup money, but Nikko's already insisting we watch expenses like misers. He's determined for Fotopoulos & Ashford
to be a financial success as well as a success in solving crimes. How do you like our location?”

“It's sort of out of the way. Might be hard for customers to find.”

“We feel that's an advantage. People who need a private detective will find us. We'll be listed in the phone book. Clients might avoid patronizing a detective agency if they had to approach it from a main street entrance where anyone could notice.”

“I suppose that's true. I've never considered hiring a P.I.”

“There's one thing very special about our office that you haven't commented on. What do you think?”

“Maybe I need to go back inside and take a second look.”

“No, you can see it from here.”

“The office widow?” I asked. “It only gives your names. It doesn't identify your type of business.”

“No, that's not what I had in mind. We're still sort of in disagreement on the window, though. I think we need to add ‘Private Detectives,' but Nikko thinks people will have been referred here by someone else. He believes the window with only our names will offer clients more privacy.”

“Could be.”

“Have you noticed where I've parked?”

“Sure. Right at the side of your business.”

“That's a very special thing. We have this slot and two more slots especially reserved for us. That makes easy parking for each of us and also one for a client.”

“Hey, that
is
wonderful. Really big time. It's better than I have on Duval Street.”

Punt leaned to give me a long kiss and I returned it in kind. “I'm really proud of you, Punt.”

“The business brings our lifestyles a little closer together, right?”

“Right. I can't deny it.” Punt drew me into another kiss that we held until a kid on a skateboard slapped the trunk of the car, making us jump.

“Way to go, guy,” he called over his shoulder as he sped down the street dodging pedestrians and cars.

“I have a favor to ask, Keely.”

“Okay. Name it.”

“Go with me to Dad's house, will you? Help me break the news about Fotopoulos & Ashford?”

“You mean he doesn't know yet?”

“I told you, you and Jass were first to know. I haven't told Dad, and I don't know how he'll take it. It would probably have pleased him if I'd asked his opinion first.”

“Yes, it probably would have, but I think he'll be pleased, Punt, and I think he'll realize you've picked a great partner. You and Nikko can do a lot to help each other.”

“Yeah. My money. Nikko's brains.”

“A business needs both brains and money and you and Nikko can supply those things. That'll please Beau.” I didn't add that I thought it'd please Beau to have his son off the beach at least part of the time, and engaged in a meaningful business that'd benefit the community. Yet, I might be wrong. Dogs weren't the only ones with big egos.

“Why not call Beau now? If he's home, we can drive right over.” I pulled my new cell phone from my pocket and handed it to Punt.

Punt called and Beau invited us to his home. Slipping the car into gear, Punt headed toward Grinnell Street.

Thirty

WE PARKED IN front of the house, hurried past the picket fence and onto the porch where Beau met us at the door.