“I thought you were a wedding photographer?” Penny asked. “Why do you want to take pictures of something like that?”
“Yeah, I do weddings, family portraits, school pictures…” Alan sighed. “It’s so boring. I’m really trying to get a break as a photojournalist. But I need to build up my portfolio. I’ve been trying to take pictures and videos at accidents and crime scenes. I even set up a website to showcase my work.” He pulled a phone out of his pocket and showed us shots that he had taken recently. “See, this one is of the big pileup when that truck overturned near here last week. This is one of a fishing boat that was deliberately set on fire in the Keys a couple of weeks ago. And this one is of a—”
“Do you mind going back to that one of the fire?” I asked. “That woman looks familiar.” Alan handed me his phone. I zoomed in on the corner of the photo. “Hmm…I wonder if that’s Connie?”
“Who’s Connie?” Penny asked.
“I met her last night. She’s an environmentalist.” I squinted at the phone. “But I can’t really be sure if that’s her.”
“I took a video of the fire too,” Alan said. “I was there for a wedding reception when it broke out, so I’ve got it all on tape. If you want, I’ll upload it and send you a link to it. You might be able to get a better look at the bystanders.”
“That would be great,” I said. I remembered what Simon had said about Ken having been involved in sabotaging fishing boats in the Keys previously. Was there any connection between the two incidents?
* * *
Mrs. Moto was waiting at the front door when I got home from Melvin’s. She knew that the sound of a car pulling up in the drive meant that one of her servants had returned to attend to her every whim. While I pulled my keys out of the lock, she rolled onto her back across the threshold and batted at my foot.
“What, you want a belly rub now?” I picked up the shopping bags that were sitting on the welcome mat and stepped over her. “I’ve got to get this stuff inside. Maybe later.”
She tore in front of me and was sitting on the kitchen counter before I even had time to close the door and set my purse on the entryway table. I placed the shopping bags next to her and opened the fridge to get a can of soda. When I turned back around, she had flipped both of the bags on their side and was pawing through the contents. She knocked the sanding pads I had picked up at Melvin’s on the floor and stared at them. Next came the blue tape, followed by the respirator masks. This was a game I was used to. The rules were simple: (1) cat knocks stuff down; (2) humans pick it up; (3) repeat.
As I bent down to retrieve the items, Scooter came into the kitchen. “Oh, are you playing our fur baby’s favorite game?” He scratched the cat behind her ears. “Good, that varnish I wanted was in stock,” he said before placing the can on top of a cabinet, out of paw’s reach. “Did you get anything good to eat?” he asked. “I’m starving.”
“There should still be some chicken mole left. Why don’t we heat that up for lunch? Then I’m going to head to the marina to finish working on my FAROUT report in the lounge.”
“Why don’t you work here?” Scooter asked as he took a plastic container out of the fridge. “Mrs. Moto can help you.”
“Yeah, right. Her idea of ‘helping’ is lying on top of my keyboard. I think she’d rather keep you company.”
Scooter turned on the microwave and leaned back on the counter. “To be honest, I could do without her company for a while. I’m trying to sort through files and paperwork, and she’s making a mess of everything. If I close the door to the office, she yowls until I can’t take it anymore. You should take her with you to the marina.”
“Nah, she’d rather stay here.”
We continued our discussion of who should spend quality time with the cat over lunch but didn’t manage to come to an agreement. We did manage to agree that mole tastes even better the next day.
While we finished off our meal, I filled Scooter in on what had happened at the marine store after the chief arrived on the scene. “Can you believe he actually arrested Melvin?” I asked.
“On what charge?” Scooter asked.
“It’s got to be murder, doesn’t it?”
“From what you described about the fight between Melvin and Norm, maybe he arrested him on a charge of vandalism.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You could be right. I didn’t actually hear what the chief charged him with. Officer Moore made us all leave the store. I could only see what was going on through the window. It looked like he took statements from both men, then led Melvin out in handcuffs while Norm gloated.”
“See, that’s probably what it was.”
“But vandalism? Can you imagine Melvin doing that?”
“Look, the man is in mourning. Grief can do strange things to people. And it does sound like he blames Norm for his nephew’s murder.”
I pushed back my chair. “Let’s talk about more pleasant things, like what we’re going to have for dinner?”
He shook his head. “You just finished lunch, and you’re already thinking about your next meal?”
“I like to be organized,” I said as I cleared the table. “How about if we meet up at Alligator Chuck’s around seven?”
“Okay. I’m sure I’ll have worked up an appetite by then.”
After popping the plates and utensils into the dishwasher, I looked around for Mrs. Moto. “Where is that cat? She usually doesn’t go too far away when we’re eating.”
I checked her favorite napping spots—on top of Scooter’s pillow, near the sliding glass doors to the patio, and in the bathroom sink—but didn’t see her anywhere.
I peeked into the second bedroom. We had turned it into an office for Scooter to run his business from. Seriously, where did that man think he was going to fit all his work-related stuff on a sailboat? Two file cabinets, a large desk, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. We’d have to buy another boat to tow behind us just to hold the contents of this room.
I picked up the files and papers that were scattered on the floor, brushed cat hair off them, and set them on the desk next to Scooter’s boring collection of pens. All black, not a single colorful marker. As I was straightening the stack, I noticed one of the documents had my name on it.
“Scooter, can you come here for a sec?” I said.
“What’s up, panda bear?” he asked, walking down the hallway.
“Why did you take a life insurance policy out on me? Should I be worried?” I joked.
“Very worried. Why do you think I made dinner last night? Maybe I poisoned it.”
“But you ate it too.”
“Ah, but maybe I have the antidote and took it before dinner.”
“Did you remember to take it before lunch today? We just had leftovers.”
Scooter clutched his chest and said dramatically, “My heart! I think I’m dying!” He leaned on the desk, then starting laughing. He picked up the life insurance policy. “Don’t you remember talking about this?” He pulled another document out of the pile. “See, here’s the policy on me in case I die first.”
“But the big question is, who’s the beneficiary—me or Marjorie Jane?”
He pretended to think about the answer. “Hmm. That’s a tough one.” He gave me a kiss. “You, of course. Our lawyer also wants us to come by and review our wills too. Now that we have Mrs. Moto, we have to think about what happens to her if we both should pass away at the same time.”
“Wow, for someone who didn’t even like cats before we got her, you’ve certainly grown fond of her.” I pointed at our adorable fur ball sprawled on his office chair having her afternoon nap. “I think that’s why she’s made it clear whom she’d rather keep company this afternoon. You.”
“But where am I supposed to sit?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find another chair. That one’s occupied.”
* * *
After making a lot of headway on my report in the marina lounge during the afternoon, I packe
d up my stuff and headed off to Alligator Chuck’s to meet Scooter for dinner. I wondered if he had gotten much work done perched on a wooden dining room chair next to his desk, while the cat rested comfortably on his padded office chair.
As I drove down Main Street, I saw an older couple standing in front of Norm and Suzanne’s office pointing at something in the window and having an animated discussion. I sent Scooter a text letting him know I might be a few minutes late, pulled into a spot on the next block, and walked back over to see what was going on.
“What do you think about this one?” I heard the woman say loudly. “It’s a cute cottage right on the beach. Perfect for just the two of us. It says it’s a two-bedroom. We can use one as a guest room when the grandkids come to visit.”
“I don’t know,” the man said in an equally loud voice. “I still think a condo is the way to go. Then we don’t have to worry about yard work and maintenance. I’ve had enough of that over the years. I want to enjoy my retirement.”
“Well, let’s look at them both. Here, let me jot down the name and number of the real estate agent, and we can give her a call in the morning.” She searched in her purse, handing her companion her wallet, lipstick, and reading glasses. “Hmm. I could have sworn I had a pen in here somewhere.”
I peered over her shoulder and looked at the window. A familiar sight greeted me—yet another advertisement for our cottage. Had Suzanne printed another copy out and stuck it up here after I threw the last one in the trash?
“Are you interested in that one too?” the woman asked.
“I’m very interested in it,” I said. “But it’s not for sale.”
“It doesn’t say anything about being sold or under offer,” she said.
“Trust me, it’s not on the market.”
She tapped on the glass. “Of course it is. It says so right here.” She handed her husband a hairbrush, a crossword-puzzle book, and a bottle of hand sanitizer. “Now, where is that pen?”
I briefly considered telling her that I already owned the cottage, but the last thing I wanted was another person trying to come around and buy it out from under me. “Seriously, it’s not for sale,” I said. “This is a mistake.”
The man gestured at the window. “Now wait a minute here, missy. Just because you want to buy this place doesn’t mean that you should go around trying to pretend it’s not for sale. Whoever makes the best offer wins.” As he waved his hands wildly to emphasize his point, the lipstick fell on the sidewalk and rolled into the street. “Gosh darn it!” He handed everything back to his wife unceremoniously and went chasing after it.
She struggled to keep everything in her hands. I watched as the hairbrush made its way into the flower box underneath the window. “Hank, how am I supposed to find that pen when I’m holding all this?”
Hank returned, brandishing the lipstick victoriously in his fingers. “Here, give me that.” She piled everything back into his hands and rooted around in her purse again.
“Here it is,” she said, triumphantly waving a ballpoint pen. She pointed at the hairbrush. “Honey, do you mind picking that up?”
After the two of them managed to put everything back into her purse, she handed the pen to her husband. “Jot down that number, will you?”
“Do you have any paper, Violet?” They both looked at her purse and sighed.
I decided to put them out of their misery before they went through the whole purse charade again. “If I were you, I wouldn’t bother writing the number down. The real estate agent is dead.”
“Can you believe the nerve of this gal?” Hank asked his wife. “Some people will stoop to any level to get what they want.”
The woman clutched her husband’s arm. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Saying that someone has passed away just so you can get your hands on that cottage. Come on, honey, let’s get out of here. We’ll come back first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not making it up. I saw the body,” I said.
The woman gave me a horrified expression before walking off.
I gazed at the headshot of Suzanne in the upper corner of the window. “Even in death, you’re managing to cause problems,” I told her. A passerby looked at me oddly, so I waited until he was out of earshot before continuing my conversation with Suzanne’s picture. “Did you know we’ve had people come by at all hours, knocking on the door and asking to see the cottage? The cottage that we never even put up for sale?”
I didn’t expect an answer, but it felt good to get that off my chest. I pressed my face up against the window to see if anyone was inside, lurking in the dark. I needed to get that flier down from the window pronto to prevent any future misunderstandings, as well as any other unannounced visitors.
I tried the front door but it wouldn’t open, even after jiggling the handle repeatedly. I wasn’t going to be able to gain access through the large plate glass window, so I decided to see if there was a back entrance.
As I walked down the dark alley behind the building, I sent my husband another text.
Still running late. Need to sort out paperwork with Suzanne.
My phone beeped right away.
Huh? Suzanne’s dead.
Something cold brushed past me. I startled and dropped my phone. I picked it up, turned on the flashlight, and aimed it up and down the alley. Nothing. Probably just a raccoon. I tapped in a reply.
Yeah, I know. But some people still think she’s alive.
Thinking about Suzanne’s murder was probably too much for Scooter because he changed the subject.
Should I order nachos while I’m waiting for you?
He knows I love nachos. It was clearly a ploy to get me to hurry up. But first things first. I needed to get that ad out of the window. When I got to the rear of the office, I noticed a light on in the back room. Maybe Norm was in the kitchen, hiding out from people staring into the office window. After knocking on the door and not getting a response, I turned the knob, opened the door a crack, and poked my head inside. “Yoo-hoo, is anyone here?” Still no response. Could he be indisposed in the bathroom? I pushed the door open, walked into the hallway, and called out again. Only silence in response.
Since I was already inside, and the office was technically open—after all, the door was unlocked—surely Norm wouldn’t mind if I quickly removed the sign. I would actually be doing him a favor. People wouldn’t wander by the window, think the cottage was for sale, and annoy him with calls to set up viewings for it.
I walked over to the window and took down the ad. I crumpled it up and took aim at the trash can near Suzanne’s desk…and missed. Two out of three, I told myself. I grabbed it off the floor, popped a chocolate from the candy dish next to the computer in my mouth, and tried again.
At least I got closer this time. I took two chocolates this time as a consolation prize. As I got ready to go for my third attempt, I saw something out of the corner of my eye—Violet and Hank were back, along with another older couple.
They were pointing at the spot where the picture of the cottage used to be displayed. When the woman put her face up against the window to try and see inside, I darted behind Norm’s desk and out of sight.
Despite the pane of glass, I could hear their voices. I wondered if they realized that they both needed to replace the batteries in their hearing aids. From their discussion of low-maintenance plants and lawn fertilizers, it sounded like they might be there for a while. Because I had left my purse on the floor next to the window and wouldn’t be able to retrieve it without being spotted, it looked like I was going to be there for a while too.
I settled down into Norm’s chair while I waited. I swiveled back and forth and pondered my situation. My phone was in my purse, so I couldn’t send another message to Scooter letting him know I was further delayed. Plus, I was getting hungry. I really wished he hadn’t mentioned nachos in his last text.
Fortunately, Norm also had a candy dish on his desk. Unfortunately, his was full of peppermints. Not nearly as
tasty as Suzanne’s chocolates, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. As I reached across to take one, I accidentally knocked over a cup, spilling tea all over Norm’s desk. I quickly wiped up the liquid with tissues, but wasn’t fast enough to prevent it from dripping into the top drawer, which was partially open.
I pulled the drawer open. There was a collection of pens, a protein bar, and a handgun on top of a file folder that was sitting in a puddle of tea. I used one of the pens to nudge the handgun to the side—I hate guns and do my best to avoid touching them—and placed the folder on top of the desk. After cleaning up the inside of the drawer, I started to dry off the folder with a fresh tissue. That’s when I noticed that it was labeled “Coconut Cove Tropical Resort.” It was the same one that had been on Suzanne’s desk when I was last in the office, which Norm had complained about because it wasn’t locked up.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I leafed through the papers inside. Usually, I find legal documents to be incredibly boring, but these held my interest. The first one was an agreement for the purchase of a house by Sierra Vista Rental Properties. I recognized the address of the property in question immediately. It was right next door to us and owned by our neighbor, Alligator Chuck.
The second document revealed who the owner of Sierra Vista was: Xander Carlton. I didn’t know too many men named Xander, so I was pretty sure this Xander was Suzanne’s son. It looked like she was using the technique that Connie and Fiona had told us about. She had a shell company, owned by her son, make an offer on Chuck’s house. Then the shell company sold the property to the developer of the resort.
I imagine she had planned on taking a similar approach to try to purchase our cottage, as well as Melvin’s. We all would have thought they were separate transactions, either bought by individuals or by rental companies. Then once she owned all the cottages on the beach, the construction of the resort could begin, and it would be too late for any of us to protest.
As I flipped over the last page, I noticed an envelope at the back of the folder. Thinking it contained more details about the shady real estate deal, I opened it up. Instead, I found something far more interesting. It seemed that Norm had taken a life insurance policy out on his wife rather recently. And from what I read, it appeared as though he was about to come into a lot of money.
Bodies in the Boatyard Page 17