“Mitch.” I grabbed his arm. “Hush. Someone may be listening. The who following us may be the same who that murdered Francine.”
Mitch pulled the slashed tires from his bike and tossed them onto the sand.
“Right this minute the killer may be lurking—watching us.” Mitch kicked at my bike tires and swore under his breath. “Let’s bug out of here. The guy’s got a knife. That’s for sure.” I pulled him toward the street. “Come on, let’s go.”
He jerked away. “I’m not leaving my bike here. Got no other transportation.”
“Lives rate higher than bicycles.” Again I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the street. “I feel someone watching us. Come on. Come on!”
“After we lock our bikes to a tree.” Mitch jerked away again and pushed his bike toward a palm growing at the side of the beach. “Humor me. We’ll lock the bikes to the tree and maybe they’ll be here in the morning. Maybe. Someone with a cable cutter could…”
Mindlessly I followed Mitch, my hands shaking, my stomach churning like a bowl of cold eels. “I’ve got money, Mitch. Let’s go to The Reach and call a cab. Right now.”
Once Mitch finished locking the bikes, he followed me. I hailed a cabbie who stopped and drove us toward Eden Palms. He felt in the mood to talk. We didn’t.
“Tourists?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied, unwilling to reveal we were locals.
“Welcome to our island.”
We didn’t reply, but our silence didn’t forefend his chatter.
“Have you heard there’s been a suspicious death at the mansion? Maybe murder.” He chattered on with no encouragement from us, spilling out stale newspaper info along with tidbits of gossip he either made up or had heard from other sources. My nerves were frayed wires shooting silent sparks long before he let us out at the cottage. I paid him, tipped him well, and hurried toward the door.
Once inside, I closed every shade and drapery, and Mitch, seeing my consternation, pulled out my coffeemaker, filled it with water, and began searching the cupboard for coffee as calmly as if he’d lived here all his life.
“I don’t know what to do, Mitch.”
“Begin by finding the coffee.”
I opened the coffee tin, did some measuring, and started he pot. “Our lives were in danger on that stinking beach. Probably still are.”
“Want me to spend the night?”
I choked back a yes. That’s exactly what I wanted—someone here with me. “No, of course not, Mitch. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay. Okay. Never let it be said that I forced myself on woman. And don’t worry about Francine’s bike. I’ll get a pal to go with me to claim both bikes in the morning. We’ll get new tires on them. My friends have many talents. We’ll get your bike back to you in good condition.”
I’d forgotten about our bikes in my concern for our lives. Opening my purse, I thrust twenty dollars at Mitch. “I’m not a charity case—yet. I’ll be grateful if you and your…friends can get the bikes rolling again.”
We sat at the snack bar waiting for our coffee to cool. I burned my tongue on the first sip and soothed the pain with an M&M. After several minutes I began to relax and shake off the feeling of foreboding that threatened to take up permanent residence in my mind.
“I actually learned some things tonight, Mitch. I apologize for taking you on a wild chase.”
“No problem. I think you’ve learned a lot.” He looked at me from under lowered lids. “You’ve learned Zack has an eye for the ladies.”
“I already knew that. There’s no romance between Zack and me—nothing but a strong friendship. I’m not concerned about his dinner partners.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why you wanted to follow him, wanted to see how cozy a relationship he has going with his near and—dear neighbor.”
“Oh, hush! Zack had asked me to help him with a secret investigation of Francine’s death. He hoped we might find evidence the police have no access to, or evidence they might overlook. Maybe he asked Courtney for that same kind of help. That’s the sort of thing that interested me tonight.”
“I think he wanted to spend the evening with a slick chick. Suppose you had no interest in that.”
I ignored his implications. “I learned something big tonight, Mitch. Think about this. We were watching Zack and Courtney while someone, possibly Francine’s killer, was watching us and slashing our bike tires. Go figure. That scares me, but it also tells me that neither Zack nor Courtney murdered Francine.”
“You’re willing to leap to the conclusion that the tire slasher is Francine’s murderer? That’s a stretch. A big stretch. Some kid who gets his jollies from tire slashing could have hit on our bikes. Happens all the time. You ever read the daily crime report?”
“You could be right, I suppose. Maybe I’m reaching the wrong answers.” I remembered Mitch’s laundry, went to the washer and shifted his clothes to the dryer. Maybe I couldn’t eliminate Courtney and Zack from my suspect list yet.
“How about I pick up my duds tomorrow?”
“Fine—unless you prefer to tote them along with you wet. I’ll drive you home now if you’re ready to go.”
“Ready and willing.” Mitch walked with me to the carport and checked inside the car before we got in. Then he nodded toward the T-bird parked in the dimness two stalls from mine. “Guess Zack’s home, huh?”
Surprised, I noted the convertible and then the glow from Zack’s kitchen window. As if by reflex, I glanced at a light in Courtney’s upstairs hallway. “Guess they’re both home.”
“Sneaky, those two. I didn’t hear any car doors slam.”
“Where to?” I asked, backing from the carport.
“The Bridle Path, please, ma’am. Unless you’ve changed your mind and want me to stay the night.”
“Not necessary, Mitch. But I appreciate your going bike riding with me tonight. I learned things I needed to know, and wouldn’t have gone out alone.”
“Anytime, Sis. Anytime. But when you get home, watch your back while you’re walking from the carport to the cottage. Some guy may be stalking you. You got a gun?”
“Mitch! Of course I don’t have a gun.”
“Then you’d better take mine. I’ll be safe enough with my friends tonight. Even Princess totes a gun. Says she’s never had to use it—so far.”
I shuddered, wondering how many armed vagrants walked Key West streets. On the way to the Bridle Path, Mitch pulled up a pant leg, and removed a silver pistol from a holster strapped above his ankle.
For an instant I forgot we were orphans. I came close to falling into my big sister mode and asking him if Mom knew he carried a gun. Catching myself in time I said, “Good grief, Mitch. Good holy grief!”
Mitch grinned. “Bought it myself and registered it in my new name. Some afternoons I do target practice with a retired cop at the shooting range. I’m a fair shot, but I want you to have the pistol tonight.”
“No way. I don’t know beans about guns.”
“You don’t have to know beans. The sight of a pistol scares the bejeesas out of most people. If anyone bothers you, flash the gun. That’ll make the average joe back off fast.”
Mitch laid the pistol on the car seat between us and the minute we stopped at the bridle path, he eased from the car, lingering a moment at the open window.
“I’ll call tomorrow and give you the buzz on Wizard. He may have turned up by then.”
Disinterested in any buzz he might hear about Wizard, I watched until he disappeared into the thicket beside the path. Where would he sleep tonight? Tent? Under the cloudy sky?
All the way home I thought about Zack and Courtney. Does Zack suspect her of Francine’s murder? Had he taken her to dinner to prod for clues? Or maybe, as Mitch said, maybe he’d merely wanted the company of a slick chick. I gloated, remembering again that he’d turned to Courtney only after I refused his invitation.
Upon entering the carport, I took care to drop Mitch’s gun into my p
ocket and close the car door silently. For a moment I stood looking, listening. Believing I was alone, I started toward the cottage, my right hand clutching the pistol, my left hand gripping my house keys.
I stepped from the protection of the carport, quickening my pace, yet forcing myself to show no fear to anyone who might be watching.
“Bailey?”
For an instant I didn’t recognize Zack’s voice, and my whole body felt tense as a coiled spring. I relaxed when he called to me again.
“Bailey? That you?”
“Of course, Zack. Sorry to have wakened you.”
“You didn’t wake me. It’s only a bit after ten. You okay? Everything all right at the cottage?”
“Everything’s fine. I’ve been out on a few errands.”
The next thing I knew a screen door slammed, and Zack stood at my side. The coiled-spring feeling returned. My mind froze. Zack hadn’t been the one following Mitch and me. Impossible. He’d been having dinner with Courtney. What if The Follower had been trailing Zack and Courtney and Mitch and I happened to get in his way—to interfere? Maybe Zack had been in as much danger as I.
“Bailey, what’s the matter? Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“No problem. No problem at all.” Turning a bit away from him, I slid the gun up the sleeve of my jumpsuit.
“Good. Let me see you safely inside.”
“Thanks for your concern, Zack. I’ll be fine.” He walked with me to the cottage where I unlocked the door, entered, and bid him goodnight. Guilt feelings washed over me. Zack had been trying to protect me, hadn’t he?
Hadn’t he? I wished I knew for sure. What if I’d shut the door on him, thinking only of my own safety and leaving him standing alone, leaving him as fair game for The Follower?
TWENTY-TWO
In my darkened bedroom, I pulled the window shade aside and watched Zack walk to Eden Palms and disappear inside. Was he afraid? Did he carry a gun? From my living room window, I peeked out. All looked dark at Courtney’s house. Although I didn’t know what difference that could make in my life, I felt relieved.
Using only the light in the laundry room, I slid Mitch’s gun from my sleeve to my hand and considered a hiding place for it. Under a couch cushion? Under my mattress? In the refrigerator? I liked that idea. I dropped the pistol into a plastic bag and crowded it into the produce drawer beside the iceberg lettuce.
I jumped when the phone rang, wishing I could let it go unanswered. But curiosity outranked apprehension.
“You okay, Sis?” Static crackled around Mitch’s voice.
“I’m fine.” Probably a lot safer than you are. “Thanks for your concern, but don’t worry about me.”
The connection spluttered and broke, and I assumed that already he had started not worrying. I’d slipped into my nightshirt before I remembered Mitch’s clothes in the dryer. After pulling them out, I gave each garment a shake before I folded it. Frayed jeans. Faded tank tops. Tattered boxer shorts that Fruit of the Loom would deny. I stuffed the garments into a plastic bag, all except a sweat suit that still felt damp. I slid it onto a hanger and hung it on the garment rack near the washer. The cuffs dragged on the floor but they’d be dry by morning.
Lights out. ’Fraidy cat. Feeling my way to the bathroom, I snapped on a night light and left the door cracked so the beam shone into my bedroom. Once in bed, my imagination magnified every sound. Was the rustling of palm fronds outside my window nature-made or man-made? Was there a native bird that chirped at night? Rising, I padded to the refrigerator, gave the lettuce ample space, and tucked the pistol under my pillow.
I dialed an all-night station on my radio. Although I thought I wouldn’t sleep, the sunshine pouring through my window forced me from bed to turn on the air conditioner and plug in the coffee pot. Friday. Had nothing on my agenda today and I vowed to settle at my computer and get to work on some lyrics. I’d blot out thoughts about real-life murders, slashed tires, gun under pillow, and relax in a world of music.
My long-ago goal had been to write an eight-measure theme a day, revise those measures, and proceed to the next eight measures. At that pace I could finish the rough draft of a tune in a week or so, if all went well. Then I’d be ready to begin a second revision. That plan worked when I wrote lyrics in Iowa, but it wasn’t working for me in Key West. At least not yet. Lately, I couldn’t move the melody forward no matter how many pictures I looked at, how many people I talked to. This morning the reason was Zack. He called, saying he was coming to talk to me. Not asking, telling. Had he noticed Francine’s bicycle missing? Bailey, think. Think. Have some answers ready if he starts asking questions.
I left my computer on, hoping he would notice the bright screen and cut his visit short. When he arrived I offered him a stool at the snack bar, poured mugs of coffee, and set peanut butter cups, cookies, and, new to my junk-food list, sour-cream-and-onion Pringles.
I needn’t have worried about explanations for the missing bicycle. When I glanced from my coffee, Zack sat staring into the laundry room at Mitch’s sweat suit.
“Who is he? Bailey? It’s none of my business, but I’m concerned about your safety. I’ve seen some guy hanging around the cottage.”
“Oh, he’s a friend. No need to worry.”
“A friend for whom you do laundry?”
His questions unnerved me. Who was he to pry into my private life?
“Doesn’t your friend know about Laundromats?”
“I owed him a favor, Zack. Have another Pringle? An Oreo?” I tried to change the subject, but when I pushed the snack plate toward him, my hand shook so, I hit my cup and sloshed coffee onto the floor. Zack grabbed a paper towel and helped mop up the mess.
“Look, Bailey.” He waited until I met his gaze. “There’s been one murder here and I don’t want there to be another one. This morning the police officially called Mother’s death a homicide.”
“We guessed all along they’d do that, right?”
“Right. Homicide. One death already, and I think you’re in danger.”
I willed my hands to stop shaking, my voice to sound firm. But it didn’t work. My hands shook and my voice wavered. “Who’d want to murder me? And why? What motive—”
“Hold the questions. I don’t have answers. Maybe we’re both in danger. I may sound like your Dutch uncle, but I want to know about this guy you’re seeing, doing favors for. He might be…”
Lying’s a talent I’ve never perfected—especially that of lying to friends. I took a deep breath and faced Zack. “The man is Mitch Mitchell—my brother.”
Zack stood and walked toward the sweat suit as if he might jerk it from the hanger and rip it to shreds. “Bailey Green has a brother named Mitch Mitchell? You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to believe it because it’s true. And it’s a long story.”
Zack sat down again at the snack bar, his fists clenched, his gaze boring into mine. “So make it a short story, or this guy’s going to be on my hit list if the police don’t get to him first.”
“I’ll be risking Mitch’s life if I answer your questions.”
“You may be risking his life if you don’t. Once the police learn of his relationship to you, they’ll demand answers. I refuse to protect him unless you give me strong reason.”
“You have to promise to keep what I tell you top secret.”
Zack hesitated, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Okay. I’ll keep it between the two of us as long as I can—legally.”
I knew that was as good an answer as I’d get. I poured Zack another mug of coffee and began my story. When I finished, Zack remained silent for a few moments before he spoke.
“Your brother’s on the hot seat for sure. If the Iowa druggies don’t get him before he testifies in Des Moines, our local police may nab him.”
My throat felt so tight I could hardly speak. “Why?” I slapped the snack bar so hard Zack jumped. “Why would the Key West cops suspect Mitch of being anything but w
hat he says he is—a drifter looking for work to support himself here in Paradise?”
“A drifter who just happened to be inside Mother’s house looking for snakes? Be real, Bailey. Nobody’s going to believe him—or you.”
“If Mitch were guilty, don’t you think he’d have been too smart to mention snakes?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you needn’t worry that I’ll tell the police anything about him—anything you’ve revealed. Seems dumb that he relocated here where he had a relative. Surprises me that the feds let him get by with that. I’m guessing they don’t know about you.”
“That’s how it is, and I hate being the one who revealed Mitch’s true identity.”
“I’ll keep his secret—and yours—as long as I can. But I’ll need your help.”
“Maybe we need each other, Zack.”
Zack looked at me in a way that told me I’d said too much—or that he’d taken my words the wrong way.
“When the police officially called Mother’s death a homicide, they funneled parts of the truth to the media.”
“They mentioned the…the snake?”
“No. Not yet. They think withholding that information may work in their favor while they continue their investigation. But the snake facts will come out sooner or later. Now that the police have released Mother’s body, I’m concerned with her funeral. You can help me with the arrangements if you will. I want to hold the service this afternoon.”
“Of course, Zack. What can I do?”
“Her body will be cremated. That was her wish. She also wished to have her ashes scattered at sea on a moonlit night. I’ve decided that’s going to happen tonight. Weatherman predicts fair skies and a full moon.”
As if to argue with Zack, the TV announcer’s voice that had been background noise, suddenly caught our attention. “Small craft warnings are now in effect for the rest of the day and evening.”
“Nothing you can do about that, Zack. Can’t the burial wait until tomorrow?”
“Small craft warnings won’t matter. Nobody can depend on good boating weather—especially not in the winter. I’ve hired a pilot and chartered his helicopter. We’ll fly to the waters beyond the reef, scatter the ashes there. Mother always loved fishing and snorkeling near the reef.”
Eden Palms Murder Page 16