Pier Pressure (7 page)

“That might work, I suppose,” I said. “Most of the suspects are my steady customers. Even Nikko took treatments to help me get started when my office was new, but once I became established he cut his appointments to once a month. I'll have to check my calendar, but I'm fairly sure he has an appointment soon.”

“I could talk to Nikko, too,” Jass said. “I've been eating at The Wharf
a lot since they've been planning my hibiscus show there on Thursday. Even if my special blossom doesn't win first place in today's Miami competition, the manager at The Wharf
is going on with the show anyway. Good advertising for both of us, he says. Anyway, when I eat there, I usually stop by the kitchen to compliment Nikko on his cooking.”

“Gram talks to Nikko a lot when he visits her shop to pick up supplies,” I said. “She could quiz him, too. In fact, I'm sure she'd like to. Gram's curious and she wants to keep on top of things.”

Punt had stayed out of this conversation, but now the way he cleared his throat demanded our attention. “Don't forget that Nikko's my detective partner,” Punt said.

“That doesn't place him above suspicion,” Jass said.

“There's another suspect we've forgotten to mention, women.” Punt stood and began pacing.

“Who's that?” Jass asked.

Punt waited a few moments before answering. “Don't forget Jude Cordell.”

“Jude?” Jass and I spoke in unison.

“Yes, Jude. Jude's a law clerk and secretary at Hubble & Hubble.
He had access to Margaux's will. No doubt he read it with great interest. Can't think of anyone in this town who wouldn't have read that will had the opportunity presented itself. Don't forget that at one time Jude threatened Keely's life.”

“I prefer to think of that as another idle threat—like Consuela's,” Jass said.

“I try to forget both Jude and his threat, Punt. Help me forget. Don't be bringing Jude's name up now.”

“You can forget his threat, but that doesn't make it go away. Jude threatened you. Witnesses heard him. I'm one of them, and I'm willing to testify against him in court should it become necessary.”

“Okay, okay,” Jass said, “but…”

“Jude's not dumb, and he's dangerous. Since he probably knew Keely would inherit from Margaux's will, he could have shot Margaux for pure meanness, knowing Keely would find her body and likely take a lot of heat from the police. Maybe face a murder rap. Jude's already on the police blotter as an abuser. He knows the drill when it comes to police interrogations.”

“Hold on one minute,” I blurted. “How could he have known I'd find the body?”

“By following you,” Punt said. “I hope you don't think that restraining order means anything. In his mind, Jude'll never let you off the hook. I think he moved back to Key West just to torment you.”

“I agree with that,” Jass said.

“Gram thinks so, too.”

“After watching your place and following you a few Sunday mornings, Jude would have figured out your standing appointment with Margaux,” Punt said. “He could have known that Beau would be out of town last night. Lots of people were talking about the tournament, and Margaux told friends that Beau was involved in it. What a perfect time for Jude to act!”

“Like everyone else, he knows the person finding a body would get special attention from the police.” Jass sighed.

“You may be right.” I could barely whisper the words, they frightened me so.

Again, Jass began to pace. “Which one of us is going to find out if Jude has an alibi? Which one of us is going to check out that alibi—if there is one? He's dangerous. I want no part of him.”

“I plan never to go near him,” I said. “That's for sure.”

“If we can get the police to call Margaux's death a homicide, maybe the police will check out his alibi,” Punt said. “It wouldn't break my heart to see Jude on the hot seat.”

I wondered what Punt had against Jude. Most people who didn't know Jude well liked him, from what I've heard. He hid his dark side.

“Keely, where were you late Saturday night?” Jass looked me in the eye. “We've all got to come clean.”

Both Punt and Jass stared at me, and my stomach felt like a kettle of boiling water as my sudden resentment rose. Heat flushed my face and my voice croaked as I tried to answer Jass.

“Calm down,” Jass said. “We know you're innocent, but we need to know you've a strong alibi. We need to hear it.”

A few deep breaths helped me find the grace and dignity to answer. “That's the problem, Jass. I have no alibi—at least none that'd hold up in court. I stayed home alone all evening—reading, watching TV, sleeping. Saturday night's seldom a big-event night in my life. What were you two doing?”

“I've a good alibi,” Jass said. “I'd been in Miami all day taking care of the details, the paperwork involved in entering the hibiscus show. I felt exhausted by the time I got home, but nervous energy kept me wired.”

“So get to the point,” Punt said. “What'd you do?”

“In the early part of the evening I worked in my greenhouse writing out orders for fertilizers and soil additives. Then around nine o'clock I went with June Bishop to the late movie, a double feature. We were inside the theater all the time and I'm sure June will vouch for me. What about you, Punt?”

“I hung out at Sloppy Joe's
from eight-thirty until after midnight. About ten, one of the guys in the band invited me to sit in for a while. Shim Latner lent me his guitar. I played until the band left the stand around one o'clock. After that we jammed until three or so. Then I came home and went to bed. Jass, since you were up late, maybe you heard me come in.”

“Afraid not.” Jass sighed. “We'll trust each other. We wouldn't be holding this conversation if we were guilty, and there's another thing we have to consider quickly. Margaux stipulated plans for her memorial service in her will.”

“Didn't know people could do that,” I said. “Why would anyone want to?”

“Margaux thought she could do anything her little heart desired,” Punt said. “She liked to see people dance to do her bidding, and she knew her memorial service would be her last chance to make the calls.”

“So what about this service?” I asked. “What did she want? A fanfare? A drum and bugle corps? A Duval Street parade?”

“None of that,” Jass said. “Within forty-eight hours of her death, she wanted her body cremated, a memorial service to be attended by invitation only, and a burial at sea to be held on the same day.”

“What if there's a small craft advisory?” Punt asked. “I suppose we'll have to dump her ashes into a bait bucket and store it 'til the seas calm. Could take days. I've seen it blow hard for a week in February.”

“Be real, Punt. Be an optimist. The long-range weather forecast predicts winds at five to ten for the next four days. That takes us through Wednesday, but we still have to act quickly. If the police call Margaux's death a suicide and her body is cremated, most evidence of foul play will have been destroyed.”

Before Punt or I could agree or disagree, we heard a car pull up in the driveway. Beau had arrived.

Seven

JASS JUMPED UP and hurried toward the foyer that led to the front stairway. Punt followed her down the winding steps to the hibiscus display room below. From a vantage spot near the stairway, I watched Beau through a leaded glass window as he rapped with the brass knocker and then opened the door and stepped inside. I wished I could avoid meeting him right now, avoid being drawn into the grief and anger he must be feeling, but I saw no way out. Jass, with Punt following, rushed to greet him.

With his tall, muscular body, Beau could have been the poster boy for state-of-the-art scuba gear and swim trunks. Even now in his black silk shirt and cream-colored shorts, his dark hair along with his tanned skin and his sea-blue eyes reminded me of a lithe Neptune rising from the sea. I could believe the rumor that two local salvage companies were after him to sign contracts with them, to dive again and help locate
The Espinosa,
another sunken galleon.

At the foot of the steps, Beau pulled both Jass and Punt to him in a warm embrace, then followed them upstairs to the sitting room. Perhaps this tragedy would help Beau and Punt forget some of the problems that separated them.

“Keely.” Beau didn't seem astonished to see me in the sitting room, and when he stepped toward me, I clasped his hand in both of mine.

It didn't surprise me to feel him shaking. Or was I the one shaking? “I'm so sorry, Beau. You have my heartfelt sympathy?”

“Dad, where have you been?” Jass asked.

Beau hesitated a moment as if trying to get things straight in his mind. “I've been trying to get home,” he said at last. “Heavy Sunday afternoon traffic, as always. And since I didn't know about…the emergency, I kept in my lane and resisted the urge to pass the line of traffic ahead of me. I encountered a long delay on Seven-Mile Bridge. Some guy's Town Car had an alternator problem and when he got that patched up, he ran out of gas. Locals, too, not tourists.”

“Let me make you some coffee,” Jass said. “You must be exhausted. We've tried and tried to reach you on your cell phone.”

“I turned it off because the traffic claimed my full attention. A ringing phone distracts me. I can't carry on a phone conversation and drive at the same time. I'm sorry I caused you to worry. Had I known…”

Beau shook his head as he slumped onto the couch, propped his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. “I didn't hear the news about Margaux until a police car began following me with lights flashing and siren wailing. Somehow I found a place to pull off the highway and the patrolman gave me the news. I stopped by the house, then a detective asked me to go to the morgue to…identify the body.” Beau's voice dropped to a bare whisper, but he lifted his head and faced us.

“You've had a rough time, Dad,” Jass said, standing near the back stairway. “You too, Keely. Excuse me while I bring us some snacks.”

“I really must be going.” I tried to ease toward the back stairway, but Beau beckoned me toward the couch, then seemed at a loss for words. In a strained silence, we heard Jass downstairs readying coffee mugs and silverware as she moved about in the kitchen, and soon the aroma of brewing coffee wafted to us.

“Keely,” Beau said at last. “I'm so sorry you had to be the one to…to be first on the scene of the tragedy. The patrolman told me you handled the situation well—as well as a situation like that could be handled. I appreciate your quick thinking, your concern, your calling nine-one-one.”

“I hear the police are saying Margaux's death's a suicide,” I said.

“They haven't decided for sure. I can't imagine such a thing. The police searched the house and the detectives asked me to do another search while they watched. We found no suicide note, yet I felt the police were holding information from me.”

“We think someone murdered Margaux,” Punt said. “What do you think about that, Dad?”

“The police asked me to stay in town.” Beau shook his head. “As if I might catch a quick flight out of the country or something. I don't know what to expect. I don't know what the police are thinking.”

“In case they're thinking murder, Jass and Keely and I have been drawing up a list of suspects,” Punt said.

At that moment, Jass came up the stairs carrying a tray with coffee mugs and cookies.

“Help yourselves, everyone,” she invited, then she handed Beau a mug and a napkin.

“Women always think food can make a bad situation better,” Punt said as he helped himself to a cookie.

“Maybe it can,” Jass insisted.

“I really must go,” I said. “You three need some time alone, and I need to get home.” I stood. “If I can be of help, let me know. If I don't hear from you, I'll get in touch tomorrow.”

“Talk to people,” Punt said. “Let's carry out the plan we discussed.”

“What plan was that?” Beau wrapped his hands around the coffee mug as if to warm them.

“Please excuse me.” I moved toward the stairs. “Jass and Punt can share our thoughts with you when you've rested and feel more like listening.”

“Let me drive you home.” Punt swallowed his cookie and stood beside me.

“Thanks, Punt, but no thanks. I rode my bike, remember? I'll need it for transportation to work tomorrow morning.”

Jass followed me downstairs, opened the back door, then snapped on a dim porch light. It surprised me that darkness had fallen.

“Take care, Keely. I'll call you tomorrow morning. You'll be at your shop, won't you?”

“Yes. I closed for today, but I'll open tomorrow as usual. I can't talk to the suspects if I close the office.”

“Do take special care, Keely.”

“I will. You get back upstairs to your family. I'll be fine.”

Night's like a black quilt that drops quickly over the Keys. There's almost no twilight between sunset and dark. At about five in the afternoon, or sometimes even sooner, the tourists begin drifting toward Mallory Dock
to view the sunset and to watch the buskers who perform their sunset-ritual acts. Before I opened my reflexology office, I used to make a living of sorts by selling key lime cookies and palm frond hats at the dock, but tonight that seemed ages ago.

Now, even at this distance, the trade wind carried the eerie sound, the lonesome sound, of a bagpipe. I imagined the player dressed in plaid kilt and tam as he blew into his cumbersome instrument, summoning people to view the evening's entertainment.

Jass turned on the lights that outlined the widow's walk on the roof. From this cattycorner angle in the yard I saw five lights gleaming from each of two sides on the high porch. Nine of them were white and one glowed a bright green. I wondered if Beau knew the green light shone in memory of Jass's mother.