While I was staring at the wanted posters and wondering what would compel someone to get a tattoo on their face, the door to the interior of the station swung open. Scooter stood there in a daze. He looked awful. His previously freshly ironed clothes were now wrinkled, his face was drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“What did they do to you?” I asked as I hugged him.
“They asked me a lot of questions, over and over.” He pulled back and brushed my hair behind my ears. “Mollie, it doesn’t look good. I think I’m in real trouble.”
My heart sank. The only time Scooter ever called me by my first name instead of by a pet name was when things were serious. “What’s going on?”
“They think I murdered Emily.”
I gasped. “The chief said that?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Well, what words did he use? I know Chief Dalton isn’t prone to verbosity, but he must have said something.”
Scooter tucked his shirt into his pants. “He kept asking me about Emily and Penelope, about the Van der Byl estate, and about my business ties to them. Then he mentioned a cousin of Maarten van der Byl, some guy named Andreas.”
“Who’s that?”
“I met him once at a telecommunications conference. We had a drink together. He has a different last name, so I didn’t connect him with the Van der Byl family. But apparently, if both Emily and Penelope are out of the picture, then Andreas is next in line to inherit the bulk of the estate.”
“So what does that have to do with you?”
“The chief thinks I want Andreas to be running the Van der Byl business, because he would make all the contract disputes go away. Can you believe he thinks I would murder an innocent young woman to save my business?” He pulled me into a bear hug. “I’m so glad I have you by my side.”
I squeezed him back. “Always,” I said. “I’ll always be by your side.”
“Now, how about something to eat?” Scooter asked. “I’m starved.”
“I think everything is going to be closed by now except a fast food place.”
“That sounds good to me. The greasier the better.” He opened up his wallet. “I think I might even have a coupon in here.” He pulled out a stack of bills and shuffled through them. “There it is. A free chocolate milkshake with the purchase of a burger.”
As he started to shove the cash back in his wallet, I stopped him. “Let me see those ten-dollar bills.” I pointed at the notice on the bulletin board. “There’s some counterfeit money being passed around. We should get these checked.”
Then it hit me—people who counterfeited money needed to make it look as genuine as possible so they didn’t get caught. The same thing went for forged documents. If you wanted something to pass scrutiny, you had to pay extra, and you had to know someone who could arrange for that sort of thing. Someone like Mike. Ten to one, Jeff’s wedding certificate to Emily was a fake. Now, I just had to prove it.
* * *
The next morning, I let Scooter sleep in. He had tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into a deep slumber. I hadn’t slept well either. My nightmares had taken on new proportions. How I longed for the day when only rutabagas and raccoons haunted my dreams, instead of visions of my husband languishing in a jail cell.
Mrs. Moto knew something was amiss. She didn’t yowl as usual for her breakfast when the sun came up. Instead, she stayed perched on top of Scooter’s pillow, keeping watch over him.
After leaving a note saying I’d be back soon with breakfast, I grabbed my bag and sneaked off the boat. I made a couple of phone calls to ensure everything was set up, and then I headed to the waterfront park for my meeting. You’ll notice I didn’t say I stopped off for a coffee or pastry beforehand. That’s how serious things were—stopping for caffeine or sugar wasn’t an option.
After parking my car, I walked over to the sports pavilion. The place was deserted, something I was counting on. I pushed the door open and walked inside. The room looked exactly like it had on the day of the cake competition. The cakes, plates, and tablecloths had been removed, but the setup was the same, even down to the barrier dividing the place into two and the Trixie Tremblay posters on the walls.
I sat behind one of the tables in the back and waited. After a few minutes, the door opened and Jeff walked in.
“Thank you for coming here,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. I knew I was taking a calculated risk meeting Jeff, but, based on what Mike had told me, I didn’t think the Aussie would try to kill me. The lawyer had said everyone was safe from Jeff, including me. My assumption was that this meant that if he did try anything, it would involve something nonlethal, like blackmail.
Jeff sat in the chair across from me. “My pleasure, mate. I figure we should clear a few things up.”
“I know about the wedding certificate. It’s a fake. Mike arranged for it to be forged so you could pretend that you and Emily had been married all along.”
“You’re a clever girl, aren’t you?” he said with a sneer.
“Not clever enough,” I said. “If I was, then Scooter wouldn’t have been questioned by the police. You’d be in jail instead.”
Jeff leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. “About that. I think your husband is going to have to spend some more time in jail.”
I leaned forward. “I don’t think so. You’re the one going to jail. Once the chief finds out about your fake wedding, it will all be over.”
“Well, here’s the thing. He isn’t going to find out. It’s your word against mine. Besides, Mike’s guy is an expert in what he does. No one is going to think my wedding certificate is fake.”
“That piece of paper might work at first, but all they have to do is check the state records. There’s no way you could have hacked into the government systems too.”
“Ah, you’re not as clever as you think, are you? The wedding certificate isn’t from Florida. It’s from a small Caribbean island, one where government officials are more than happy to look the other way with the right enticement.”
“You mean a bribe?”
He put his finger on his nose. “Bingo!”
“Bribe or not, people are still going to question it. All this time, you’ve been saying that you were just engaged. Now, you’ve changed your story, and you’re claiming she married you.”
“That’s easily explained. You see, Emily flew down to the islands with me to a pharmaceutical conference a couple of weeks ago. We got swept away with the romance of it all and were secretly married. It was a beautiful ceremony. It took place at sunset on the beach. Emily had flowers in her hair and wore a white sundress. I wore a white shirt and Bermuda shorts. We were both barefoot. After the justice of the peace pronounced us husband and wife, I drew a heart in the sand with our initials inside of it.” He smirked. “Romantic, huh? People are going to lap that story up when I tell them.”
I had to admit, it did sound romantic. Except for the part about it being a total fake. “How are you going to explain the fact that neither of you told anyone about it?”
He shrugged. “Easy. She wanted to have a formal reception on Destiny Key. That’s when we’d announce we were already married. She thought it would be a fun surprise.”
I chewed my lip. It did sound convincing. This man could talk anyone into anything. It probably explained his success as a sales rep. I steeled myself and got to the heart of the matter. “Couldn’t you have been happy with half of the Van der Byl estate?” I asked. “Was it really worth murdering someone to get all of it? You killed your own fiancée, for goodness’ sake.”
Jeff frowned. “That was an unfortunate accident. I was fond of Emily. She rarely left the island, except for business. So when I met her at her lawyer’s office in Miami, I figured it was meant to be. I was looking forward to marrying her. It was Penelope I wanted out of the way.”
“Because you were afraid she would find out that she was Maarten van der Byl’s daughter?” He nodded. “An
d you didn’t have any way to blackmail her to keep her from claiming her share of the estate?”
“Correct.” He leaned forward. “That girl’s reputation is spotless. I couldn’t find any leverage on her.”
“So you admit it. You meant to kill Penelope.”
“Sure, I admit it,” he said. “I didn’t have a choice. Sometimes, people get in the way.”
“People like your former fiancée?”
Jeff furrowed his brow. “How do you know about her?”
“It’s not important. What happened to her? Did you poison her too?”
“Let’s just say she drank something she shouldn’t have.” He looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. “She really shouldn’t have tried to make me sign a prenuptial agreement,” he said softly.
I shifted in my seat. Jeff certainly wasn’t holding anything back. I’d suspected that his arrogance would drive him to want to tell someone about how clever he had been. About how he managed to get exactly what he wanted, no matter what the cost to anyone else. My palms were clammy. Jeff’s confession was coming a little too easily.
Never mind. Things had already gone this far. I had to press on. “Wanda knew about your former fiancée, didn’t she? You were ensuring she still got regular payment from the estate, right?”
Jeff’s eyes grew cold. “Hmm. Maybe I’ve underestimated you.”
“Perhaps you should check to make sure no one is around when you have secret conversations.”
He nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”
“Maybe you can clear something up for me,” I said. “When you and Wanda were talking outside the Sugar Shack the night Emily died, you said something about her having a vested interest in her death. What did you mean by that?”
“It all comes down to money. If Emily had been unmarried at the time of her death, Wanda would have inherited a modest sum, more than she’s getting now with her monthly payments. But as we know, Emily was married to me, so Wanda gets nothing.”
“Fake married, you mean.”
“Like I said, it’s your word against mine, and, well, my word is backed up with some very authentic looking paperwork.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. “Not that it matters, because here’s what’s going to happen. Your husband is going to confess to killing Emily.”
I sat back in my chair. “Huh? Why would he do that?”
“To protect you, of course. You see, Mike’s guy does an excellent job forging not only wedding certificates but also other things, like emails and letters. I have a file folder full of some very convincing evidence that you plotted to kill Penelope. You stole the bottle of gelsemium and poured it on Penelope’s slice of cake, knowing that it would kill her. You’d do anything to save your husband’s business.” He smirked. “At least, that’s what all the documents I have in my possession would lead anyone to believe.”
“So just to be clear, you killed Emily, you faked your marriage to her, and you forged documents implicating me in Emily’s death.”
“That about sums it up. I’ve seen how the two of you are together. Your husband loves you very much. He’ll do anything to keep you from going to jail. The police already think he did it, so it’s just a simple matter of his confession.” Jeff pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll expect Scooter to turn himself in to the police by the end of the day.”
As he sauntered out the front entrance, I took a deep breath and put my head in my hands. Then I walked to the back door and pushed it open. “Did you get all that?” I asked.
Alan held up his tablet. “It’s all on here, saved to the cloud, and I just emailed a link to Chief Dalton.”
“Okay, let’s grab the camera, and then I’ll treat you to a coffee.”
I watched as Alan walked over to the Trixie Tremblay poster by the rear door, peeled it back, and pulled out a camera that had been wedged on a small ledge hidden behind Trixie’s face. As he pressed the poster back in place, I smiled at how her right eye had been discreetly cut out with just enough room for the camera lens to peek through. For once in my life, I was grateful for Rutamentals.
18
THE NEWEST YOUTUBE SENSATION
“Wish us luck,” I said. Mrs. Moto squirmed in my arms as I adjusted her costume.
Scooter scratched her head. “You don’t need luck. The two of you look adorable. I think this is going to be the year that the first feline ever wins the Coconut Cove pet-costume competition.”
Nancy’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Attention: all dog owners, and, ahem, cat owners, please bring your pets to the main stage immediately for the costume inspection.”
“Costume inspection?” Scooter asked.
“She said something the other day about all costumes needing to be compliant. If they aren’t, your pet is automatically disqualified.”
Scooter examined the metallic belt wrapped around her middle. “You did an amazing job with this,” he said. “Are you going to have her wear the hood up or down?”
“I think up when we first walk across the stage, then I’ll pull it down to reveal what’s underneath.”
The loudspeaker boomed again. “Attention: this is your three-minute warning. All pet-costume competition entrants to the main stage immediately.”
“You better get going,” Scooter said, kissing us both on the top of our heads. “I need to go get set up with Alan.”
“Set up for what?”
“He’s going to film the competition. I want to watch and learn how he does it. He was telling me about his YouTube channel, and I was thinking we should start one for Mrs. Moto.” Our calico meowed loudly. “See, I think she agrees.”
“Well, the man to learn about making great videos from is definitely Alan.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Scooter said. “If it hadn’t been for him taping Jeff’s confession yesterday and sending it to Chief Dalton, I’d be in jail.”
“Attention: Mollie McGhie. Please bring your feline to the stage immediately. This is your final warning.”
“We better scoot,” I said.
After barely passing the costume inspection—Ned intervened when Nancy wanted to eliminate us on the basis that she didn’t know what Mrs. Moto was dressed as—we took our place backstage.
While our soon-to-be YouTube sensation sat calmly in my arms purring, the dogs were running around sniffing each other and tangling up their leashes in the process. Their barking drowned out what Nancy was saying over the loudspeaker. Eventually, she poked her head behind the curtain and glared at humans and dogs alike. “Quiet!” Everyone obeyed immediately. “That’s better. Now, I’m going to call you up one by one. Walk your dog or”—she paused and peered at me over her reading glasses—“your feline across the stage toward the podium. Stop for a moment while I read out the description of your pet’s costume. Then promptly exit to the other side of the stage. Is that clear?”
The humans nodded, the dogs barked in unison, and Mrs. Moto meowed.
The first dog up was a chihuahua dressed as Superman. He was a fierce little thing. If attitude was one of the judging criteria, he would have won hands down. After a few more dogs took their turn, the German shepherd, Chica, made an appearance wearing a shark costume. An extremely energetic dog, she tore across the stage without pausing at the podium. Then she raced back to the other side, her human desperately trying to keep up.
“If you can’t control your dog, it will be disqualified,” Nancy said. Chica did what any dog would do in a situation like that. She walked over to Nancy, gazed at her with soulful eyes, then held out her paw. Nancy surprised everyone by shaking her paw. Hmm. Maybe she was a dog person after all.
Next up was Bob, the terrier whom we all thought should run for mayor against Norm. He strutted across the stage in a Sherlock Holmes outfit. He appeared utterly dignified until someone in the audience threw a tennis ball on stage. There was nothing Bob liked more than chasing tennis balls, and there was nothing Nancy liked less than dogs dropping balls at her
feet and expecting her to play fetch. After kicking the ball to the side and admonishing Bob’s owners, she called out the next dog’s name. Maybe she wasn’t a dog person after all.
I wondered what she was going to make of the next contestant—Chloe, the chocolate Labrador retriever. She was dressed in a hula skirt and lei and carried a coconut in her mouth. When she got to the podium, she laid down on the ground and started husking the coconut. Her tail wagged from side to side as shredded coconut husk flew everywhere. I stifled a smile when I saw Nancy pluck some out of her hair with disdain. After a few minutes, Chloe picked the husked coconut up in her mouth, carried it to the edge of the stage, and deposited it in Penelope’s hands. I had a feeling coconut pie was going to be on the menu at the Sugar Shack later that day.
“And now, join me in welcoming the winners of the pet-costume competition for three years in a row, Frick and Frack.” I wished Anabel luck as she herded the Yorkies onto the stage. “Don’t they look adorable dressed up as fairies?” Nancy asked the audience.
Finally, it was our turn. You know what they say—you save the best for last. Mrs. Moto walked confidently toward the middle of the stage. When we got to the podium, I picked her up and pulled back her hood. The audience gasped in delight when they saw what she had on her head.
“This is our feline entry,” Nancy said with zero enthusiasm. “She’s owned by Mollie and Scooter McGhie and—”
“Actually, it’s the other way around,” I interjected. “When it comes to cats, they own their humans.”
Nancy tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails on the podium. “Are you done? Good. As I was saying, Mrs. Moto is a Japanese bobtail cat who is modeling a”—she paused to adjust her reading glasses—“a Princess Leia costume. Who is Princess Leia? I’ve never heard of her before. I’ve heard of Princess Grace and Princess Diana, but Leia is new to me.”
Poisoned by the Pier Page 19