Eden Palms Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  I listened to Detective Cassidy call on Courtney next. Now and then I caught myself squelching a yawn, but I zoned in on Courtney’s alibi. On my previous Key West visit, she’d never ranked as my favorite person, but I had no concrete reasons for my feelings. It’s hard for me to warm up to a person who dotes on wearing Prada and who never has a bad hair day.

  “Ms. Lusk, where were you this afternoon and early evening?”

  “I was showing houses to a family new to the city who expressed interest in making Key West their permanent home.”

  “Who were these people?”

  “The Gordon Jamell family from Jackson, Michigan.”

  “They occupied your whole afternoon?”

  “Yes. After I left them, I stopped at Pier House for a sandwich. After that, I met friends who were visiting the island and staying at Pier House. The Haynes. We attended the sunset celebration before they caught a plane for Miami.”

  “They will corroborate your statement?”

  “I feel sure they would if they were available. They planned to fly to Miami tonight, stay there until morning, and then fly abroad.”

  “Do you know where they were planning to stay in Miami?”

  “No.”

  “Where were their plans going to take them once they left this country?”

  “They mentioned renting a car and touring England.”

  Courtney’s words sounded evasive to me—too many unexplained time slots. I had to blink fast to keep from going to sleep, but I jerked to attention when Cassidy began questioning Dr. Gravely. Was I the only person present who hadn’t known Gravely had been the one who found Francine’s body?

  “Tell us more about this,” Detective Cassidy asked.

  “I’d been attending a luncheon at Kelly’s Caribbean. A group of us were planning a special Conch Republic celebration dinner for friends who’d missed the regular celebration last year. After we finalized our plans, I drove home and then walked to Eden Palms—purely a courtesy call. I wanted to ask Francine if I could do anything to help with last-minute details for her evening meeting. And since my hibiscus plants are in full bloom, I offered to bring her a bouquet.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “I found her sprawled on the floor at the foot of the staircase. I called nine-one-one.”

  “You knew she was dead?”

  Gravely hesitated only a moment. “I’m a doctor, sir. I knew.” Zack’s face grew crimson and for a moment he glared at Gravely, but he said nothing.

  Detective Cassidy dismissed Dr. Gravely. Why so quickly? I wondered. I had lots of questions. It was a Sherlock Holmes moment. Had the door been unlocked? Were there signs of a struggle? Had her clothing been disarranged?

  With a nod, Cassidy focused his attention toward Tucker Tisdale. I looked away from Tisdale’s scaly skin, the parsnip-colored hair. His falsetto made him sound like a prepubescent boy, and he had little information for Cassidy. He’d been working at his funeral home, and he felt sure his staff would vouch for that. Cassidy didn’t inquire as to the nature of that work. Thank goodness.

  Detective Cassidy let his gaze sweep the solarium, stopping briefly on each person present. In the silence we heard water dripping from the fountain, the squeak of Courtney’s chair when she leaned forward, preparing to rise.

  “Thank you people for your attention,” Cassidy said. “You may go now. If you have reason to leave the island, please clear your departure with me first. Thank you.”

  For a few seconds nobody moved, then in a nanosecond the solarium scene broke apart like a jigsaw puzzle someone had kicked by accident. I headed for my cottage, glad I’d locked the door before leaving it.

  EIGHT

  Few streetlights illumined this cul-de-sac, but at least I’d remembered to leave the porch light on. The night had grown chilly. Why hadn’t I thought to slip on a sweater! Why indeed! Tonight had been no time for remembering mundane things like sweaters.

  A mourning dove, probably disturbed by my footsteps, twittered a plaintive cooing from the sea grape tree near my front door. The eerie sound sent goose bumps prickling along my arms. I forced firmness into my steps, determined to appear strong to anyone who might be watching, and at the same time I wondered who might be watching. Zack? Courtney? Cassidy?

  Stop borrowing trouble, you dope. Nobody’s watching!

  I wondered if my brother might be somewhere near. Detective Burgundy had escorted Mitch away in a patrol car, but nothing could prevent him from riding his bicycle back. I wanted to talk with him, but I doubted he would return here tonight. Did he have a telephone at his apartment? Maybe he carried a cell phone. If only we’d had a few more minutes together before Zack interrupted us.

  My key scraped into the keyhole and the lock clicked open. I closed the door in slow motion, fighting my inclination to bang it shut. After pushing the lock button in the center of the doorknob, I thrust the deadbolt in place. But even as I took those precautions I wondered who else carried a key to this cottage. Francine had kept one in case someone locked himself out. Where was that key now? And wouldn’t Zack have a master key to every door on the property? I considered calling a locksmith tomorrow and adding my personal lock to the cottage. But could a renter do that to property owned by someone else?

  I turned on inside lights before I snapped off the porch light. In the bedroom I ignored my keyboard, the suitcase on the luggage rack, and the second case standing unopened beside it. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a sleep shirt and headed for the bathtub, looking forward to a warm soak with lots of bubbles. In minutes my muscles relaxed, and the steam and the gardenia fragrance of the bath oil almost lulled me to sleep in the tub. I pushed fear from my mind. How could anyone be afraid in Paradise?

  A brisk knock on my front door answered my question. I didn’t shout “coming.” Maybe I could ignore the knock. Grabbing a bath sheet from the towel rack, I wrapped myself in it and tiptoed to the door. One peek through the peephole revealed Zack on my doorstep carrying a tray of sandwiches and mugs of hot chocolate with floating marshmallows.

  “Zack!” I called through the closed door. “One minute, please. Be right with you.” Hurrying to the bathroom, I slipped on my sleep shirt; then rushing to the bedroom, I pulled a robe from my suitcase, rammed my arms into the sleeves, knotted the sash.

  When I reached the living room again, I released the lock, the deadbolt, and opened the door to Zack, who stood looking embarrassed.

  “Sorry to bother you, Bailey, but I thought we both needed some refreshment after that session with Cassidy.” Zack stood back as if he might change his mind about coming inside.

  “How thoughtful, Zack. I can smell hot chocolate and barbecue sauce from here, and the Cuban sandwiches look great. Pulled pork—my favorite. Come on in.”

  When I opened the door wider, I saw Courtney standing at her upstairs window watching. Zack’s gaze followed mine. I fought a temptation to wave, to let her know we’d caught her watching, but before I lifted my hand, a drapery fell in place. Courtney and Zack go out together now and then, and that’s fine with me. But in the past when Zack and I had gone out, I don’t think it was fine with Courtney. I think she’d enjoy retiring from real estate and devoting full time to being Mrs. Zack Shipton.

  Zack stepped inside and I closed the door, glad Courtney had seen Zack enter. I didn’t care about making her jealous, but I wanted Zack’s whereabouts and mine recorded in someone’s mind. I led the way to the snack bar, and we sat on bar stools to enjoy Zack’s treat.

  “Zack, what’s your take on Cassidy’s question session? You think he believes someone shoved Francine down the steps?”

  “It’s hard to know what a detective thinks or believes. Cassidy’s probably unsure himself—thus all the questions. I hope you weren’t bent out of shape by his prying and prodding. You’ve had a hard day of travel—and then all that.”

  I took a bite of sandwich and followed it with a sip of hot chocolate. “Wonderful treat, Zack. Wonderful
. But I have lots of questions. I’m new here. I’ve met the neighbors, but I don’t know them well. Or the yardman.”

  “Well, the yardman’s new, but I’ve known the neighbors for years. I’d trust them with my last dollar.”

  “But maybe not with your mother?”

  “Bailey! I trust everyone present in that solarium tonight. Even the yardman. What motive would Mitch Mitchell have for pushing Mother down the stairs? He doesn’t own property around here. At least I don’t think he does. Why would he have cared if Mother established a homeless shelter?”

  “You’re right. He’d have no motive. But what about the others? Tell me about Dr. Gravely. Everyone seems to like him and give him lots of respect.”

  Zack hesitated. “Known Winton Gravely all my life. I think it strange that nobody told me he was the one who found Mother’s body. That irritates me. But I trust him implicitly. We grew up together. Went to Key West high school together. We both love the outdoors and we fish together now and then.”

  “Only now and then?”

  “He likes trolling on the open sea, and I like fly-fishing in the backcountry.”

  I smiled. “Fishing is fishing, isn’t it?”

  Zack chewed his sandwich thoughtfully. “Fishermen who go in for trolling like being on the water more than they like fishing. They pull alongside a bait boat and buy whatever bait the skipper’s selling. Then off they race at high speed, gung-ho to find a promising spot, bait their lures and begin dragging them behind their boats. They’re eager to reel in any fish that happens to snag their hook.”

  “And backcountry fishermen? They’re more discriminating, more particular?”

  “Lot’s more.” Zack grinned. “Sometimes I use a spinning rod, but more often I prefer a fly rod. I spend lots of time tying my own flies. There’s an art to fly tying, you know.”

  “I’m sure there must be, but it sounds tedious.”

  “I like to work with a magnifying glass, a vise, with feathers and artificial insects. It took me a long time to learn to tie the eclectic knots a discriminating fly fisherman needs. But I’m a detail man. I find attention to details worthwhile. I like to stand on a poling platform or maybe on the bow and search the clear water until I see the fish I want to catch.”

  “You can be that particular?”

  “Sure. No point in hooking up with some trash fish I’ll have to release—maybe lose my lure and snarl my line. Would you like to go fishing sometime?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe you’d rather go sailing. When I finish work on my sailboat, I’ll take you for a sail.”

  “That sounds nice. When will you finish it?”

  “It’s almost done. Just a few details left.”

  Did I really want to be at sea and alone in a boat with Zack? I hoped Courtney would remember she saw him come in here tonight. And I hoped Zack would remember that Courtney had seen him enter the cottage. I enjoyed a half-melted marshmallow then changed the subject back to fishing.

  “When you spot a fish you’d like to catch, do you usually catch it?”

  Zack laughed. “Not always, but if I miss, I try again. I’m willing to take my chances. Sometimes I go out with Winton on his speedboat and sometimes he goes out with me in my backcountry skiff. We humor each other. We brag a lot about our catches, give each other put-downs, but no hard feelings. It’s all a part of our friendship.”

  “So you trust Gravely. What about Tucker Tisdale?”

  “Tucker’s an okay guy. I don’t envy him being in the funeral business, but to each his own. He inherited the business from his dad same way I inherited mine. No sense walking away from a good thing. Tucker’s okay in my book. He sometimes soaks people big bucks for his services, but on the other hand I’ve seen him provide free funerals for the families of indigent people. Tucker’s both community minded and generous.”

  “Guess that leaves Courtney, doesn’t it?”

  “Courtney and I’ve been friends for years. We date now and then, but there’s nothing serious between us. We both understand that.”

  I took another bite of my sandwich and looked away, feeling that what Zack understood and what Courtney understood might be two different things.

  “You might say Courtney’s the new kid on the block. Her husband, Sidney Lusk, died in a car crash about five years ago. She inherited her home from her grandfather, and she and Sidney lived there until his death.”

  “Zack, since you seem to trust these neighbors, yet you think Francine’s death wasn’t accidental, what do you believe happened? Police don’t do death investigations unless they suspect something suspicious about the death.”

  “I don’t know who’s responsible or what happened. I’ve come here tonight to bring refreshments, and I’ve also come to ask for your help.”

  A foreboding of danger put me at guard. “What sort of help? What do you think I can offer, Zack? Of course, I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “I’ve already mentioned that as the person who inherits Mother’s fortune, I’ll be the number-one suspect.”

  “I’d hoped you’d have an airtight alibi.”

  “I do have an airtight alibi—more extensive than the one I gave Cassidy tonight. If the police call Mother’s death a homicide, I’ll reveal all in the hope they’ll keep my words out of the media. Once made public, my alibi could jinx an important business deal—reveal too much information to a competitor.”

  “So what can I do?” Clearly, Zack wasn’t going to reveal his alibi to me. At least not now.

  “Help me solve this mystery, Bailey. If the police call Mother’s death a homicide, then I want you to help me find the culprit before the police have to reveal my alibi. As I remember it, you’re a mystery reader, right? So am I. We both know how to follow clues.”

  I set my mug of hot chocolate aside and stared at Zack. “You know for sure that someone murdered Francine, don’t you? And I think Detective Cassidy knows that, too. Why are you holding back this information from everyone? The safest thing for me to do might be to catch the next flight out of here.”

  “I can understand your feelings, Bailey. But you’re involved whether you want to be or not. Mother’s death may be called an accident or it may be called murder, but either way, you’re involved. You’ve had correspondence with Mother. She mentioned writing to you now and then. Sooner or later the police will call you in for in-depth questioning.”

  “I suppose you’re right. And I did hear from Francine frequently.” I hated to see Zack looking so sad and reflective, and I wished I could lift his spirits.

  “Please agree to help me solve this mystery, Bailey.”

  “Let me think about it. Please let me think about it. Will you give me until tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Mother was always there for me and I’m hoping you will be, too. And I’m going to ask another favor. Will you come to the mansion early tomorrow morning? I want you to play hostess. When you were here before, Mother introduced you to her friends as her substitute daughter. In fact, people might think it strange if you weren’t on hand to greet callers since you’re on the island.”

  “Who are you expecting?”

  “People who arrive to express their condolences, of course. There’ll be friends calling as well as business associates. And under the circumstances, there’ll be reporters. It wouldn’t hurt your performing career to have the locals as well as the tourists see your name and maybe a few shots of you in the Citizen.”

  “Okay, Zack. I’ll come over for you and for Francine, not for the publicity.”

  “And I’ll have breakfast ready. I do cook, you know.”

  “No. I didn’t know.”

  “And I also know you haven’t had time to shop for groceries.”

  “I’ll be there, Zack. You can count on it.”

  Zack stood, stepping away from the snack bar and reaching for the tray.

  “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them and bring them with me when I come in the morning.”

 
; Zack stacked the mugs and plates on the tray. “I’m not the kind who prepares food then leaves the cleanup to others. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  We walked to the door, and I opened it for him. “Thanks for the snack. I needed it.” I looked toward Courtney’s home, but I saw no drapery move. Since she had seen Zack arrive, wished she’d also see him leave.

  Once alone again, I snapped off the lights and stretched out on my bed to think and to start making the decisions I knew must face. In my heart I knew Francine had been murdered. The probable why of it seemed to make sense, but I couldn’t begin to guess the who of it. I could barely believe a killer lurked hidden somewhere here in Paradise—perhaps in this cul-de-sac.

  I had to trust someone. Mitch. I’d promised Mom to take care of Mitch. I could trust my brother, but how could I make contact—especially make emergency contact when I might need us help? I’d have to be careful not to reveal our relationship. At least for the present, I needed to trust Zack. I couldn’t go on living in this cottage without trusting him. He anticipated my coming to his home tomorrow morning, so at least was safe for tonight. Wasn’t I?

  NINE

  Sometime after midnight I drifted to sleep. I could sense myself tossing and squirming, first feeling too chilly and pulling a blanket around my shoulders, then feeling too warm and shoving it off again. Without turning on any light, I rose from bed, raised the window shade and opened the window. The full moon was doing its thing, and the night looked almost light as day. When I spotted a bright green iguana perched on a hibiscus branch outside my window, I stood watching it for several moments as I cooled off. Iguanas! Fascinating. I had forgotten how much they look like miniature dragons. This creature sat dining on a pink blossom until it suddenly came alert and stared at something in my backyard.