The Manatee Did It

by Kay Dew Shostak

  “Lunch special for me also,” I say.

  “Any drinks to celebrate a new friendship?” he asks.

  Annie and I shake our heads no, but Allie throws her hands up. “Sure. Bring me a margarita. It’s not like there’ll be any customers at the gallery the rest of the day. Who wants to spend a vacation day at the beach inside looking at cheap art?”

  Eduardo nods, bows a bit, then turns, but as he does he says, “And I’ll let Sheryl-Lee know you are out here, Miss Allie. I know she’d rather have lunch with you ladies than in her office.”

  Sheryl-Lee? The woman on the city council? The lady at Colby’s yesterday?

  Annie catches my eye and smiles. “Sheryl-Lee and Allie have been best friends for years. They went all through school together.”

  Allie sips her water as she slouches back in her chair. “Except I messed around taking college classes, and Sheryl-Lee got married before she turned nineteen. Thanks to her divorce she’s now got a business and is on city council. Not exactly the horror story you thought it would turn into, was it, Momma?”

  This time Annie’s smile barely hides her gritting teeth, but there are no worries of her hurting Allie’s feelings. Her daughter isn’t giving her the time of day. Which might not be a bad thing.

  Chapter 15

  “Aren’t they a matched set of gargoyle bookends?” Annie says as she puts the last bite of taco in her mouth. We’re finally alone at our lunch table.

  Thank goodness.

  I agree with my new friend. “They don’t exactly make for good digestion. Sheryl-Lee sure has some strong opinions for such a young woman, doesn’t she?”

  Annie chews and nods as I lift a forkful of spicy shrimp salad to my mouth. As Eduardo had predicted, his boss joined us for lunch. Sheryl-Lee’s lunch consisted of a basket of chips, extra-hot tomatillo sauce, and a huge margarita. Maybe the alcohol helped because she admitted to not only being on Pierson Mantelle’s boat but to arguing with him because she thought his offer for privatizing the marina was way too low.

  “He was just an old-fashioned shyster. The good old boy network in living color,” she snarled. “I told him there were better offers out there for buying into the marina. He thought just because his name was Mantelle he had a foot—hell, a whole leg—already in the door. I shut that down!” By the time she’d finished her margarita and ordered another for her and Allie, Sheryl-lee was talking so fast and Annie and I were listening so hard that we barely remembered to eat, which is why we are still sitting here.

  “This shrimp salad is so good. I really didn’t know what to expect,” I say.

  “You can get it as an appetizer to eat with the chips, too,” Annie says. “So, what did you think of Sheryl-Lee’s explanation for what was on her skirt?”

  “Didn’t ring true, did it? She was talking, talking, talking, and then as soon as you mentioned that, she clammed up. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person that wouldn’t know how her skirt got that wet.”

  Annie purses her mouth and nods. “I agree. When she said, ‘Oh, someone spilt something on me,’ she was definitely not telling the whole truth. You saw her. Can you imagine spilling something on her and her just brushing it off as no big deal?”

  “More likely she’d flip the table and spear you with a fork. How in the world did she get elected to the city council?”

  Annie shrugs. “Her daddy was on the council for years, right up until his death a couple years ago. I think when people saw the name King on the ballot, they assumed it was him. She took back her name after the divorce. At least she uses her bad attitude to get along in life. My Allie uses her bad attitude mainly to make people miserable. Here they come back,” she says as she wipes her mouth with her napkin. The two younger women had excused themselves to the restroom and to chat with the bartender.

  “I’ve got to get back to the gallery. Some old lady will call the owner if I’m not there to turn over the sign right at one o’clock,” Allie says as she stands beside her friend. They look like spoiled, tipsy teenagers with their slouching, each one with a hand on her hip, the other hand messing with her hair. “Sheryl-Lee is coming with me to look at some pics for her new house. Can you believe she’s buying a new house? On the beach?” She scowls at her mother. “Why did you make me go to college?”

  Annie looks ready to explode, so I speak up. “There’s a picture there I want to look at again, too. Do we pay our check on the way out?” I pull a twenty out of my billfold.

  Sheryl-Lee picks up the checks and says, “Just give me the money and I’ll take care of it.”

  Annie stands up and pushes my hand down. “Oh, I’m treating Jewel and paying with a card. Thanks for your help, Sheryl-Lee. We’ll see y’all at the gallery in just a minute.” She’s all smiles again as she waves the young women to go on. Once they are back inside the restaurant she frowns. “Don’t ever give that girl money. Skimming off the top comes as natural to her as swimming does to a fish.”

  “And she’s on the city council?”

  Annie takes one last sip of her water and says, “Yeah, but everyone knows, so they watch her.” She squints those bright eyes at me. “Guess I should let Aiden know she was on Mantelle’s boat?”

  With a hard swallow, I croak, “Yes. Most definitely.” I stand and follow her back into the restaurant and up to the bar where the man we saw earlier takes her card and my cash. I insisted on paying for mine. We’re leaning on the bar waiting, and Annie’s putting on lipstick. How do you get comfortable enough to put on lipstick without a mirror in a public place? It’s something I see women here doing all the time, and I just don’t know about it.

  “Were you telling the truth about wanting to look at a picture at the gallery?” she asks.

  “Yes. I saw it a couple weeks ago. Why wouldn’t I be telling the truth?”

  She shrugs and smiles. “Thought maybe you were just being nice to Allie.”

  “No, not really. Does she get a commission for what she sells?”

  “No, but some sales might keep her sister from firing her today.”

  “Her sister?” I ask as she puts her wallet back together and we head toward the door.

  “Amber. My daughter in real estate, where we parked? She owns the gallery. The only way Allie keeps gainfully employed is me begging my other children to hire her. She’s been at the gallery now almost three months. Might be some kind of a record.” She pushes the door open and heads out into the sunshine.

  Hmm, maybe it’s not so bad not living near my children.

  At the gallery Annie and I examine the picture, and I decide I do want it. While I’m paying, she goes outside to call Aiden and catch him up on all the leads she’s following—her words, not mine.

  Allie’s too busy helping Sheryl-Lee to direct much negativity in my direction, so I linger and listen to the two friends discuss the pictures and the new house.

  “Is it another part of the divorce settlement?” Allie asks. “Best thing you ever did, marrying Petey. Well, besides divorcing him.”

  “Catching him on the rebound from Sheila, he was ripe for the picking. But no, this money is from some work I’ve been doing. Nothing with the restaurant.” She lowers her voice, but since I’m only across the small room from her I can hear her say, “I’m actually doing some work with Petey’s father.”

  “No way! You had all the luck marrying into that family. Can you get me a job? I’m so sick of working for my brothers and sisters.”

  “Not that kind of work. But who knows? Might have a lot of job openings around here soon.” As she comes around the corner of a rack of frames, Sheryl-Lee sees me. From the way her mouth clamps shut, I know she’d forgotten I was there.

  Just at that moment, Annie sticks her head in the door. “Hey, you ready?”

  “Sure. Bye, Allie and Sheryl-Lee. Nice to meet you,” I say as I slip out the door.

  Annie shakes her head at me a little and points down the sidewalk as I join her. Once we turn the corner headed to her ca
r, she whispers, “Aiden didn’t know Sheryl-Lee had even been on the boat! He said that boat had more traffic than the Atlanta airport on Thanksgiving weekend.” She grasps my arm. “Oh, Jewel, we’re really doing it! We’re like real detectives.” She’s in a happy trance as we walk along to her car. “Wait till the girls hear this.”

  She’s chattering along about all the clues as she drives me to my house. I’d planned on walking, but the picture is unwieldy to carry. As we come to my house, she pulls through the open gate and up to the front steps.

  “Can’t get used to them gates being open after being closed for so many years,” Annie says. “We get this murder solved, and we can concentrate on helping you get your house in order. That’s got to weigh on your mind something terrible, it being such a mess and all that junk. But that’s what friends are for, right?”

  The bright look on her face makes my chin start to quiver. “Really? You’ll help me deal with all this?”

  She leans toward me and pats my cheek. “Well, of course, sweetie. You’re one of us now.” A look of concern settles on her face. “Right? Aren’t you one of us? I mean, some people just fit. You know?”

  “I, uh, I guess. Sure.” I open my door and retrieve my painting from the back seat.

  Before I can close the back door, she speaks up. “Now you get in there and tell that husband of yours that lying isn’t the answer and you want the truth. Then let me know what he says.”

  With a nod, I close the door. She waves and pulls around the circle drive to leave the yard.

  Tell Craig I want the truth.

  Well, now, he’s going to know that’s a lie.

  “Don’t ask what you don’t want to know” was my mother’s mantra. She’d gone to law school when I, the younger of two, went into first grade. My brother was three years older than me. Mother took to heart the lawyer’s directive that you never ask a question of a witness that you don’t already know the answer to. She would say it to me and my brother when we’d ask pretty much anything. Even what was for dinner. Often when we’d ask that question, she’d repeat her mantra and then say, “Whatever you decide to make for us. Call me when it’s ready.” Sure, it made us rather self-sufficient, but it also made us leery of asking questions, which isn’t always the healthiest life choice, especially when it comes to marriage.

  Luckily Craig has always been a straight shooter. He says what he means and means what he says. Not a lot of questions were needed when we met, fell in love, and got married right after our college graduation. We had the twins only eleven months after we got married, and from that point on, I was just one tired, confused question. I relished a husband who would make all the big decisions. At first he seemed to want my opinion, but it didn’t take long for him to realize I didn’t have one. Asking just caused frustration on both our parts.

  Plus, his onsite construction assignments meant he lived away from us most of the time. My military brother said he thought he was at home more than Craig, and he was probably right. I’m not sure why I thought us moving here would turn out well, but I sure didn’t think we’d end up in this mess. A big sigh tries to work its way up and out, but I’m really getting tired of sighing, so I swallow it.

  “Craig? Are you here?” I shout after I knock on his closed office door and get no answer. Walking around the downstairs, I listen but don’t hear anything, which is nice. Sometimes the sounds in this house are downright creepy. I’m sure it’s rodents in the attic, but there are times I could swear someone is upstairs. But old houses make noise, right?

  With a shiver, I look out the back door to realize his car isn’t in the driveway. I’m relieved he’s not here. It’s hard with him being gone so much, but after all, he never wanted to be here in the first place. Leaning against the door, I admit it: this whole mess is my fault. Why, when I finally stood up and had an opinion, did it have turn out so badly?

  Pushing away from the door, I step purposefully toward the kitchen. I need to get my thoughts straight before I ask Craig about yesterday.

  Chapter 16

  Pressing the flashing button on my coffeemaker means an immediate hit of sensory pleasure as a hot stream of chai tea fills my mug. The perfect afternoon pick-me-up. I lean over to smell it, then turn around to see if there’s evidence of what Craig has been doing this morning. He’s never been one to leave dishes out, so there’s not much evidence of anything. He’s so used to taking care of himself on the road that he does it at home as well.

  When I got home from the gallery, I stood the picture of the tall bird in the water in a kitchen chair and leaned it against the wall so I could look at it. I study it now. It just looks so Florida. The sky behind the bird is pink and reflected in the water. It’s not the ocean; there’s no sand or waves. I guess it’s the swamp? Or marsh? Anyway, it wouldn’t have fit in any other house I’ve lived in. Settled in across the table from it with my chai tea and a notebook, I start writing down what I know.

  I first write the word “Suspects,” but then I realize just how much that sounds like I am in an old-fashioned mystery show. I cross it out and write, “People who didn’t like Pierson Mantelle.” But then I think, did Craig like Pierson Mantelle? I don’t know. Ray Barnette? Do you have to dislike someone to kill them, or just dislike what they might do? Or what they already did? Okay, fine. I tear off that sheet of paper and write “Suspects” at the top of the new sheet.

  Ray Barnette. He said they were partners, but he was on the boat. What if Pierson Mantelle decided to pull out of buying the marina? What if Mr. Barnette tried to talk him into it and he’d gotten mad? What if Ray was going to make some money on the deal somehow? Being a janitor at his age may mean he needs money. He did mention something about needing that job, and with those arms, he could definitely wield that margarita pitcher.

  Sheryl-Lee. She definitely did not like Pierson Mantelle, and I have no trouble seeing her swinging the pitcher at him, or anyone, if she was mad. But she was so open about her hostility towards him. Wonder if she’ll be so open with the police? She did say she had “put a stop to that.” So just how did she put a stop to Mr. Mantelle’s plan for the marina? She also mentioned to Allie more jobs or something like that. Did she have her own plan for the waterfront?

  Girlfriend of Mr. Mantelle. I know the police say she and her friend were too drunk, but having raised two girls and experienced dozens of their friends, I know that girls that age can be pretty good at lying and acting helpless when they need to. They can also be freakishly strong when they want to be. I mean, have you ever tried to take a phone out of a teenage girl’s hand?

  Aiden told his mother there’d been a lot of people on the boat. Wonder who else?

  Craig? He said he wasn’t, but then he lied about looking for me at the marina.

  From my seat at the table I can see at an angle out the back door to Craig’s office door. Maybe I should go look inside. I don’t know if it’s hanging out with the lunch bunch and their detective talk, or maybe it’s knowing for the first time in our marriage that Craig is lying to me. Maybe I’m crazy, but I have an overwhelming feeling I need to go in there.

  I move before I can change my mind. At the door out of the kitchen I stop and look both ways. Yuck, that feels too sneaky. This is my house. I’m across the hallway, and my hand is turning the doorknob before I can let my mind think of anything else.

  The room is warm. And it’s a mess. Papers are laying all over Craig’s desk and on the floor. His briefcase is open and half falling off a stack of boxes. Out of the corner of my eye a sudden movement makes my heart stop. I jerk back behind the door, but then my mind registers what the movement was. The curtain is moving. Ducking around the door, I see that the back window is wide open. That’s why the room is warm. When I venture back in I’m shaking my head because this can’t be what it looks like. I mean, it looks like a break-in. Like someone came in that window and made this mess because they were looking for something. That’s why all the drawers in the desk are wide open, on
e even upside down on the floor.

  That’s when it hits me. Oh my goodness. We’ve had a break-in! I step back, slam the office door, and run across the kitchen to the table where my purse is. I pull out my phone and dial 911. Then I have to sit down because my knees have suddenly turned to jelly. A much-used phrase, though one I’ve just discovered is completely accurate.

  “Hello, this is Jewel Mantelle, and we’ve been broken into.” I rush to confirm the operator’s question. “Yes, the Mantelle house.” Then my blood turns to ice—another descriptive phrase I didn’t realize was true. “Still in the house? I don’t know. I, uh. Yes, I’m in the house.”

  The 911 dispatcher tells me to leave the house, and now my jelly knees are like concrete. I force myself to stand. The front door seems so far away, but the open window was to the back of the house. Wouldn’t it be better to not go out that way? The woman is talking, but I’m trying to decide where to escape to. Just as I start toward the front door, it opens and my knees are back to jelly. Luckily I’m beside the counter, so I lean on it as I yell into the phone, “Someone’s coming in the door!”

  “Jewel? Are you okay?” Craig calls. I turn to see him running toward me. “What’s going on? Who are you talking to?”

  I grab him and push him back the way he came. “We’ve got to go outside. Hurry!” On the porch I slam the door behind us and jog down the front steps to collapse onto the foot-high wall along the drive. Here I can breathe.

  Craig sits beside me on the old cement wall. “What is going on? Are you okay?”

  “We’ve had a break-in,” I gasp. “Your office. Back window is open and it’s a mess. Papers everywhere.”

  He stands up, but I grab his hand. “No! The 911 lady said they could still be in there. Look, there’s the police!”

  Two men jump out of their car with guns drawn. I then realize the 911 operator is trying to get my attention on my phone. I lift it to hear her exclaim, “She’s in the house with the intruder!” Then she shouts, “Mrs. Mantelle, are you okay?”