“Or a woman could have had it in for her if one of the men Diana Durand led astray dumped his old flame for her,” Neely suggested. “She would have had to be big or full of fury to drag Diana’s body down into the water.”
“Not all men could have handled a feat like that, either,” I muttered, halfway speaking to myself. “A man or woman angry enough to strangle Diana could have done it in a rush of adrenalin. That’s what you’re getting at, right, Neely?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Neely replied. “Moving the body had to have happened posthaste once you all left to call the police. Maybe there’s still a footprint down there that can help the investigators determine whether the killer was a man or woman. I’ll concede that it would have been easier for a man to do the deed in a hurry.”
“Did the friend happen to name any of the men Diana supposedly lured to their ruin?” I asked.
“Not in the article,” Neely replied as she scanned it again.
“I bet I could find that out.” All our eyes were suddenly on Marty.
“You could? How?” Midge asked. Marty didn’t respond right away. She appeared to be a bit shy, or anxious perhaps, after blurting out that offer to help.
“I know the woman who used to manage the store where Diana worked. She was my contact at the Blue Moon Boutique when I was still employed as a buyer. Donna Wolz is retired now, like me, but she keeps up with what goes on at the shop. At all the resort shops, in fact. If she doesn’t have the scoop on Diana Durand’s men friends, she’ll know who does.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with the idea of doing that?” Neely asked, still studying Marty’s face. She now wore a worried expression despite the fact she’d sounded emphatic about being able to get information about the men involved with Diana Durand.
“Well, it feels a little risky.” Marty shrugged. “I’m willing to give it a try.”
“Why not? Do you imagine that Deputy Devers is going to figure anything out? That article also says the autopsy’s still pending, but the police are treating her death as a homicide. I don’t need an autopsy to tell me someone strangled her. Whoever did it is still out there free as a bird.” Neely sighed, and then nodded as she spoke again.
“Unfortunately, that’s all true. Meanwhile, we had a mysterious visitor this afternoon, as Midge already knows. Free as a bird is one thing, circling like a hawk is quite another! I’m as dubious as you are about the deputy’s investigative abilities. What I’m suggesting is that we consider the risks, proceed with caution, and none of us gets too far out of our ‘comfort zone.’ Especially not if we’re out snooping alone.” Neely adjusted her glasses and then filled in Marty and Charly about our encounter with the all-too-curious golfer.
“A perfect stranger somehow believes it’s okay to creep around, spying on us. How do you like that?” Marty asked, her blue eyes glaring in anger. Gone was any hint of timidity in the petite woman who sometimes reminded me of a sixty-something Dame Judi Dench. As if on cue, she delivered a dramatic line. “How dare he!”
“Apparently, our mystery man’s not a stranger to everyone in our community,” I offered as I explained what I’d done once I had a photo of the nosy golfer. “I’m certain Greta Bishop can tell us more about him. By the way she’s leaning in and smiling at him at a holiday gathering at the Clubhouse, I’d say they’re on friendly terms.” It was my turn for show and tell as I displayed the photo I’d put on my cell phone.
“See?” I said, handing the phone to Charly. Charly took a turn peering at the seemingly amiable and attractive well-dressed man, and then passed it along to Marty who slipped on the glasses dangling from a chain around her neck, peered at the image, and immediately calmed down.
“That’s a relief,” she said, removing her glasses. “If he was hanging out with Greta, maybe he was scouting properties and not trying to find his next murder victim.”
“It could be. There’s one way to find out. If Greta or someone else who was at that event can tell us who he is, we might get a better handle on why he was checking out our cottages this afternoon.” I took back my phone, wondering which one of us might have the best chance of getting Greta to answer a few questions about the man she’d found so charming at that holiday affair.
“If he’s a strangler, at least he’s good-looking,” Marty added. “Too young to be one of us.”
“Not necessarily. He could be a resident if he’s married and his spouse is over fifty-five,” Midge said.
“That’s possible, but I can’t believe that at least one of us wouldn’t have been introduced to him if he was married to one of our community members,” Charly commented as she examined the image of the man again. “He’s not the kind of man you’d forget, is he?”
“I agree. He exudes the confidence of a man who’s out to make an impression on everyone in the room! Here’s another idea. The HOA Executive Committee took a new look at the eighty/twenty rule, right? Given how chummy he and Greta appear to be, maybe he’s new to the community and got in here that way even though he’s not fifty-five,” Neely added.
“What’s the eighty/twenty rule?” I asked, perking up a little hearing there might be a way around the fifty-five minimum age requirement.
“Age restricted communities can allow exceptions to the fifty-five plus requirement for up to twenty percent of residents. Communities like ours have been looking at the option to help sell properties since the real estate market crashed ten years ago.”
I felt a flutter of hope that there might be a way out of the little cloud of white lies that had engulfed me in my widowhood. So far, they’re lies of omission rather than commission, but guilt and paranoia-inducing for an old Catholic-school-girl like me. Midge’s next comment shut the door on that hope.
“That can’t be, Neely. So far, the committee members haven’t reached agreement about a policy change. Even our resident realtor opposed the idea, so I doubt he or anyone else has been granted a waiver to live here without a partner or spouse who’s fifty-five or older.”
I tried not to allow my disappointment to show. Charly, who had been rather quiet as we discussed the still unnamed golfer, was watching me again. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. The slight tilt of her head reminded me of Domino’s quizzical expression. Unlike Domino, she could do more than woof if she had questions. It was time to get the conversation moving again.
“Okay, so we have a few things we can do to find out if this guy is our strangler. Did you get a picture of the tag on the cart he was driving, Neely?”
“I sure did. Why don’t we ask Joe about it? He helps in the garage at the Dunes Course—fixes the carts when they break down. I’m sure he can get us the name of the person who reserved that cart.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “If he gets us a name, maybe it’ll match one Marty gets from her friend, Donna. If it turns out this guy knew the dead woman and was hanging around here today, that might be enough information for the police to take a close look at him. We need to act quickly if this guy really is stalking us.”
“That won’t happen if we take it to Deputy Devers,” Midge groused. “I don’t think ‘act quickly’ is in his playbook—especially not if the information comes from a group of daffy old dames!”
“Who says we have to give the information to Devers?” Neely asked. “Remember? The news article said Diana Durand’s death is being investigated as a homicide. That must mean her case has been turned over to the County Sheriff’s Violent Crimes Unit.”
“That would be great, if it’s true!” Marty exclaimed. “We could do a little bit of legwork and then turn this awful mess over to the proper authorities. End of story! I love that idea. I’ll contact my friend tomorrow and see what she can tell us about Diana Durand and the men in her life.”
“Neely’s on the right track about a way to avoid a confrontation with Deputy Devers.” Charly’s eyes rested on Midge when she made that comment. “I’ll use my contacts to find out who’s handling the case at
the County Sheriff’s office. That way we can avoid going through the deputy altogether.”
I’ll admit that I was now gazing at Charly in much the same way she’d stared at me earlier. No one seemed surprised by the fact that she had “contacts” that gave her access to police authorities. I wanted to ask about it, but what if she returned the favor with questions about me?
“If you want to speak to Joe tomorrow morning, Neely, I’ll go with you. I’ll bring the pictures I have of the guy and we can show those to him along with the tag number you have on the golf cart.”
“Let’s do it!” She exclaimed.
“You bring along the pictures you have of Diana Durand from the news story, too. We can drop by the Clubhouse and ask Rosemary if she’s seen either of them. She might be the one who arranged for him to attend that holiday dinner event at the Dunes Club where he’s chatting with Greta.”
“That’s possible, isn’t it?” Marty asked.
“If he and Diana were a couple, maybe they had dinner at the Dunes Club some night. We could talk to Chef Tony,” Neely added.
“Yes! Or maybe he and Greta were in there together at some point. We can check with the seating hostess and servers, too—sort of make the rounds, you know? Keeping it low key, of course.” Gears in my head whirred wondering what that meant in terms of how we approached people with our questions. “If people ask, why do we say we care?”
“Oh, my, you are new to Seaview Cottages, aren’t you? This place thrives on gossip. I’ll be very surprised if you don’t get cornered the minute you step into the Clubhouse. If not by Rosemary, then someone else who wants to hear everything you have to say about finding a body on Fitzgerald’s Bluff.”
“How early in the morning?” Neely asked. “I’m going to need my wits about me to play the part of a stealthy sleuth.” I laughed when she pretended to use a magnifying glass to snoop at her surroundings.
“I don’t know—how about ten or ten-thirty? That way we miss the breakfast rush in the dining room and get our questions answered before the lunch crowd arrives.” Neely nodded.
“Okay. I can handle ten-thirty. Come by and pick me up, okay? I promise I won’t be wearing my pajamas.” That provoked a round of laughter.
“You’d be in big trouble if you ran into The Gardeners like that again. She’d report you to Greta for driving down our precious property values.”
“I hope Greta comes after me. I’d love to ask what she and our mystery man in the photo were chatting about.” Neely folded her arms defiantly.
“You know what? You and Miriam have enough to do. Why not let me try to track down Greta? I’ll ask her that very question if you two can send me photos of Diana Durand and the man Greta’s drooling over.”
“If you wait until after I call my friend, I’d love to go with you, Midge. I’d never confront Greta alone about any of this, but I’d sure like to see how she reacts when you show her the picture of the handsome strangler.”
At that point, Charly took charge. Perhaps, she’d been holding back, not wanting to push any of us to become an amateur sleuth at her provocation. In a few more minutes, we each had our assignments for the next day. Charly, too, since she was committed to getting as much inside information as possible from her sources at the County Sheriff’s Department—including learning what she could about any evidence collected out around Fitzgerald’s Bluff or on the beach at the Blue Haven Resort.
We’d made our decision. Our tasks were clear. We were ready to act. If there’s anything I’d learned in the past year, though, it’s how often the plans we make and actions we take have unintended consequences. I braced myself, wondering what surprises we’d face tomorrow. What could be more surprising than a body on the bluff?
5 Resident Sugar Daddy
The next morning, Neely and I set out to do as we’d planned. Joe wasn’t around, so we started our round of conversations in the Clubhouse by speaking to the receptionist first. Rosemary recognized the guy immediately. When I handed her my cell phone with that photo on it, she even remembered which holiday event he was attending based on the decorations in the background.
“I’ve seen him a couple of times, but I don’t know his name. I can look and see if it’s on Greta Bishop’s holiday reservation as a plus-one, if you’d like.”
“Would you, please?” I asked.
“Sure. What’s your guess about his name?”
“What?”
“I love trying to guess a person’s first name just by looking at them. I’m pretty good at it too. He’s hot, isn’t he? A square jaw, big smile with sparkling white teeth, broad shoulders, and a full head of neatly cut hair. That’s a nice suit, too, isn’t it? I’m going to say his name is John—more Jon Hamm than John Wayne, given how polished he is.”
I was having trouble keeping up with the perky woman wearing earrings that sported images of Marilyn Monroe. Among other things, Rosemary is a dedicated movie buff. Not surprisingly, she helps organize and attends many of the events sponsored by residents of the Cinema Circle Cottages. I’m sure I had a blank expression on my face.
“J-o-n—as in Jon Hamm,” she said again. “The star of Mad Men—you must know that series, right?”
“Oh, sure.” I’m familiar with the series and the actor; I just wasn’t sure where the conversation was going. Neely must have had a similar concern.
“So, is his name, John, or J-o-n or what?” Neely asked.
“Uh, let me see. Sorry. Greta brought a plus one, but there’s no name on her reservation request. JoAn might know. You want me to ask her?”
“That’s not necessary,” I replied, hoping Midge would have more luck by tracking Greta down. JoAn Varner is the Clubhouse manager. She kept the place in tip-top shape, but I found it hard to believe she’d know more than Rosemary about the community gossip or the residents’ guests. Rosemary had handed my phone back to me and I switched to the next image in the queue. “One more question before we let you go. Have you ever seen him in here with this woman?” I asked.
“Whoa! That’s the dead woman, isn’t it? I knew I recognized her when I caught a glimpse of her on Dawn with Don & Deb.”
“That’s our early morning local news show,” Neely explained. “Not a reason to get up early, trust me.” Rosemary shrugged.
“Not for you, maybe. I like their banter. Anyway, she’s been in here, but not with that dreamboat in the picture on your phone or with Greta,” Rosemary said. “You need to talk to Edgar Humphrey, our resident sugar daddy. She’s only one of the young, attractive women he’s had as companions over the years. From what I’ve heard,” she added, lowering her voice, “he showers them with gifts until they move on.”
“When they move on, is it their idea or Edgar’s?” I wondered aloud.
“You’ll have to ask him. Maybe he gives them the boot when they start to get matrimony on their minds. He was engaged once, but that didn’t work out well.”
“What do you mean?”
“The woman sued him for palimony, even though he swore she never lived with him because of the age restriction issue.” Another shrug told me we’d probably mined whatever information Rosemary had for us and we should get going since we still had lots more on our to-do list. Or maybe I wanted to leave because the stupid age restriction issue had come up again and my guilty secret made me edgy. Neely said goodbye first, so I wasn’t the only one ready to go.
“Under the right circumstances, Rosemary is a real hoot,” Neely said once we were a few feet away from the reception desk. “She’s very creative when it comes to setting up Cinema Circle events. You ought to check those out when you get a chance—especially if you like old movies. I still have a few connections from my years in show biz. Occasionally, I can get us a preview of an upcoming release, so it’s not all vintage films. They always have an Oscar Night party and Rosemary goes all out for it.”
“I’d love to go with you the next time there’s a film, old or new.” I enjoy old movies. With the lights out, an
d a film running, there was little chance anyone could ask me personal questions about my husband.
“Let’s find Chef Tony and see if he has anything to tell us,” Neely said.
While we waited for Chef Tony, Neely and I canvassed the servers in the dining room. We had no luck getting any of them to identify the man caught spying on us the day before. One of the women we spoke to assured us she’d remember ‘a hot guy like him’ if he’d dined during one of her shifts. Her candid response made me believe that if he’d dined here, someone would have recalled his presence.
We also asked about Diana Durand. A couple of servers recognized “Dee,” as they called the woman in our photo. They also confirmed that they’d seen her dining with a man. Like Rosemary, they claimed Dee was Edgar Humphrey’s dining companion.
When Chef Tony joined us a few minutes later, he recognized the man immediately. He’d met him at the holiday brunch buffet pictured in the photo. My momentary excitement waned when Tony’s recollections stalled out at that point. According to Tony, the guy’s name might have been Dave or Dan. He couldn’t be sure, but thought it was a simple man’s name like that.
“Sorry, I can’t be more help. He was nice and polite—loved the stuffing I served with the turkey. I don’t recall ever seeing him in the restaurant again with Greta or anyone else.” Then he leaned in and whispered. “Does this have anything to do with the dead body you found? Is he a suspect?”
“I don’t believe the police have any suspects yet—unless you’ve heard something we haven’t,” I replied. I was ready to leave at that point, but, fortunately, Neely decided to keep at it.
“How about this woman?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s Dee somebody. She used to come in here with that lady killer, Edgar Humphrey.” He turned and spoke directly to me.
“I don’t know if you’ve been introduced to him. He’s the debonair old gentleman who lives in the Twain Cottage. When I heard he had a new love interest in his life, I wrote off Dee as another gold digger in a long line of cute young things after Edgar’s money. When she stopped showing up with him, I figured he’d come to his senses and sent her on her way.”
A Body on Fitzgerald's Bluff Page 5