A Body on Fitzgerald's Bluff

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Do you remember who told you that story about Edgar being involved with Dee?”

  “Probably another Writers’ Circle resident. Alyssa Gardener, maybe, or Robyn Chappell.”

  “Robyn’s in the Shakespeare cottage,” Neely said, figuring I hadn’t met Robyn yet. “You can never tell where she comes up with the rumors she spreads. I’ve heard some doozies from her. She’s not an owner, but rents the cottage. Robyn claims her landlord rented the cottage to her because it’s haunted and the owner doesn’t want to live in it anymore.” Chef Tony responded with a shrug.

  “I don’t have that much contact with Robyn, so she hasn’t told me that story. What I can tell you is that after Dee began coming in here on a regular basis with Edgar, her wardrobe improved considerably. The accessories, too. She had a whopper of a diamond on her finger the last time I saw her. I remember it clearly, because I wondered if it meant she and Edgar were engaged. I hoped it wasn’t true because I worried she’d help him on his way to the great beyond once they got married. Who knew she’d end up meeting her maker before Edgar?”

  “Do you remember when you saw her wearing that ring?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t that long ago. Before I met you, so it’s been a few months. You’d better ask Edgar.” I nodded.

  “We will. Thanks, Tony.” Neely gave him a pat on his arm as we left the restaurant.

  “No problem. I suppose I should quit referring to Edgar as a ‘lady killer’ shouldn’t I? Under the circumstances, someone could get the wrong idea. At least until they take a good look at him.” He didn’t have to sell me on that idea. I had been introduced to Edgar Humphrey. A wraith of a man who prided himself on being a snappy dresser, he’d also bragged about his independence and the fact that he’s the most senior resident in the Seaview Cottages community.

  “Still living on my own, too, in the Twain Cottage. Not that I’ve learned much in almost a hundred years—'I was young and foolish then; now I am old and foolisher.’” He’d laughed when he quoted Mark Twain and that had sent him into a spasm of coughing. The middle-aged attendant with him at the time had intervened in a completely professional manner. I would never have guessed that “foolisher” part was true given his apparent preference for younger attendants who looked more like arm candy rather than skilled assistants.

  “A sugar daddy would explain how Diana Durand had all those pricey goods with her at the time of her death,” Neely commented. “Unless she’s a secret heiress or something. I wonder if Charly’s run a background check on her yet. She’s a whiz with computers and has experience digging into a person’s past.” I gulped, wondering what Charly had dug up about me.

  “Why is that?” I asked curious about Charly even though I realized, once again, how temperamentally unsuited I am to lead a life of deception. Before she could explain, Joe and Carl spotted us. They waved as Neely and I walked the short distance to the golf course maintenance garage that sits back a little behind the Clubhouse.

  “If you two are hoping to get in a round of golf, you’re out of luck. The place is jumping today. Joe, here, was just about to suggest they rent the riding mowers.”

  “Whoever said there’s no such thing as bad publicity had it right. Seaview Cottages is in the news as the possible site of a murder and we’re booked solid. Can you believe it?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, but they’ve got it wrong. The murder scene’s not on our property.”

  “Fitzgerald’s Bluff is close enough,” Carl responded eying the two of us with curiosity or suspicion. “You two aren’t interested in playing golf, are you?”

  “No,” I said. “We were hoping Joe might be able to tell us who rented a particular golf cart yesterday. Neely’s got a photo of the tag on it.”

  “No problem. Hang on a second.” Joe stepped through the open garage door into the service area. Off to the side was a computer sitting on a desk. He checked the number in that photo on Neely’s phone, hit a few keys, and looked up. “Greta Bishop reserved the cart for a foursome. They left here just after one and returned the cart at four-thirty. Does that do it for you?”

  “All roads lead back to Greta, don’t they?” Neely asked.

  “They sure seem to when it comes to our mystery man,” I agreed.

  “Do you know if this guy was a member of the foursome?” She asked Joe.

  “Yes. I’ve seen him with Greta before—one of those wheeler-dealer types she loves to hang around. Maybe another realtor or somebody in local politics or business. What difference does it make?”

  “Yesterday afternoon he was in that cart alone and apparently trying to hang around with us.” Neely gave the two men a quick rundown of what she meant by that. Carl shrugged.

  “If he’s one of Greta’s business associates in real estate, it’s not odd that he’s checking the place out. You should track her down and ask what’s up,” Carl suggested as if we would never have come up with the idea to contact Greta. I’m sure he was trying to be helpful, so I smiled.

  “When you find out what they’re up to, fill me in, okay?” Joe asked. “Now I’m curious. I can ask around about him, too. If he’s a big tipper or drops lots of money in the pro shop, they’ll remember him. I might be able to get a name for you that way.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble, but if you can do it in a casual way, that would be great. In the meantime, we’re going to take Carl’s advice and go straight to the source—Greta Bishop.” I walked out of the garage and onto the blacktop driveway area.

  “It sounds like I need to keep this on the down low. Hush-hush. Top secret.” Who knows how much longer he intended to go on like that. Neely cut him off by shoving her phone in front of him open to the picture of Diana Durand.

  “Will you look at that?” Carl asked. “That’s Edgar’s woman friend, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right! Girlfriend is more like it since she was young enough to be his daughter. Heck, that dude’s so old, she could be his granddaughter or great-granddaughter for that matter.”

  “Not anymore,” Neely said. “Diana Durand’s dead.”

  “No way! It was her body on the bluff? The old coot’s in trouble now. I warned him to stay away from her.”

  “He heard you. That’s why they broke up,” Carl retorted.

  “If you knew he was involved in this mess, why didn’t you tell us? It’s only a matter of time before Deputy Devers figures it out!” Neely said, scolding them.

  “Hey, don’t blame me for not putting two and two together. I didn’t see the body. I don’t recognize her name, either. Does that name ring a bell for you, Carl?”

  “No. Edgar called her Dee.”

  “He had a few other names for her too, when he’d had a drink or two.” Joe smirked, raising both eyebrows a couple of times. I gave him a stern look and opened my mouth since I figured it was my turn to chew him out, but he stopped me.

  “Save the dirty looks for Edgar. You and Deputy Devers can double-team him—bad cop, bad cop.”

  “The deputy is even dumber than we think he is if he seriously believes Edgar had anything to do with her death. He would have been lying out there on the sand, too, if he’d tried to drag her body even a few inches. Before he got that new portable breathing thing he uses now, he huffed and puffed if he didn’t have an assistant to haul his oxygen tank. That thing was on wheels.”

  “Not if he hired a hit man to do it for him. Edgar’s loaded. He thinks it’s hilarious when we call him a lady killer.” Joe grinned. Neely and I both glared.

  “Is that where Tony came up with the name?” I asked.

  “Maybe. I could have gotten it from Tony or someone else. Edgar’s not shy about the fact that he likes to walk around here with a foxy lady at his side. If he can get away with it, why not?” Joe’s smile disappeared, and he shrank back a little as Neely and I continued to gaze at him in disapproval. “Uh, lady killer doesn’t seem so funny now, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I replied. Neely had more to say.

&n
bsp; “You two jokesters are never as funny as you think you are. Don’t go putting ideas into the deputy’s head. His logical abilities are screwy enough without hearing your lady killer and hit man comments.”

  “You can quit worrying about us,” Joe said. “The long arm of the law has already caught up with the old desperado. See?”

  6 The County Hoosegow

  Neely and I turned around to find Edgar wheeling his oxygen tank behind him, heading toward the entrance to the Clubhouse. Deputy Devers was strutting on Edgar’s right. A man in a sports jacket and jeans was on his left. Neely and I crossed the blacktop driveway in front of the maintenance garage to the parking lot outside the Clubhouse. When Edgar saw us, he tipped the sporty hat he wore, and then spoke.

  “Dee’s dead. Darnell told the detective they call me a lady killer around here.” Then he grinned. “I told them I didn’t do it. These guys wanted to take me in for questioning. I told them that was fine if I could eat while they grill me. Grilled at the grill, get it?” That made Edgar laugh, which sent him into a coughing fit. The two men just stood there.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaimed. “Do you really believe this man strangled Diana Durand, dragged her body down to the beach, and hauled her far enough out into the water for it to carry her off?”

  I didn’t give them a chance to respond because Edgar was still coughing as if he couldn’t get his breath back. I’d read somewhere that if a person who appears to be choking can speak, you can quit worrying about the need to intervene. Not that I knew what sort of intervention that might be in this case. Slapping him on the back seemed like it could send him sprawling.

  “Are you okay, Edgar?” I asked. He gasped out a raspy reply.

  “Yes.” He breathed deeply from the contents of the tank he lugged with him. “I’m okay.” He let go of the handle to the cart on which the tank was being wheeled, and I reached out to steady the tank before it could tumble to the ground. Neely lifted the deputy’s hand that was dangling uselessly at his side and placed it on the handle of the cart.

  “Deputy, you should be lugging that thing. Aren’t you afraid a desperate killer like Edgar’s going to pick it up and bash your brains in with it?” That set off another coughing spell as Edgar laughed again. Deputy Devers glowered, but he held onto the cart handle.

  “I told the deputy he should wait for my assistant to show up,” Edgar wheezed in between gulps of air from the tank. “He wanted to give me the third degree before I could run for it, I guess.”

  “Why are you using this decrepit tank thing? Where’s the portable pack Midge ordered for you?”

  “I dropped it in the hot tub. That’s why Nancy’s not here. She went to pick up another one for me. Then these guys showed up and I had to do something. Can you believe it still works?”

  “No. Don’t let Midge see you with it if you want to hang onto that antique,” Neely warned him.

  “Antique! That’s a good one.” Edgar slapped his knee at Neely’s comment even though I’m sure she wasn’t joking. Midge’s nursing background might get the best of her if she spotted Edgar with the gear he had with him. Not an antique, but antiquated equipment in her mind I’m sure. I sighed, wondering once again how anyone could seriously consider Edgar as a suspect in Diana Durand’s murder.

  “You do know that lady killer thing’s a joke, right?” I asked the deputy and the detective.

  “Edgar’s wanted for questioning in a murder investigation. I delivered him to the lead detective as requested. End of story.”

  “Deputy Do-wrong always gets his man, Edgar.” Neely glowered at Devers. The man standing next to Devers suppressed a grin.

  “At least the lead detective understands an old guy like me needs to eat lunch,” Edgar said. “My last meal before they put me in the slammer.”

  The detective was an attractive man, especially when he smiled at Edgar’s remark. He stared at Neely and me, perhaps wondering what we’d come up with next. I squirmed under his gaze, feeling a bit awkward about our outbursts. Still, what kind of a detective is he if he’d go after a fragile old man like Edgar Humphrey based on gossip from the deputy? As our eyes met, it’s as if he read my mind.

  “We’re not here to arrest Mr. Humphrey. I prefer evidence to hearsay.” Deputy Devers stiffened at that hearsay comment. “Besides, I’m inclined to believe him when he says he’s a lover, not a killer, right Edgar?” Edgar just nodded, still taking deep breaths from the tank.

  “We do have questions for Mr. Humphrey since he was acquainted with Diana Durand. For you, too, uh Ms.?”

  “Webster—Mrs. Miriam Webster.” I’m not sure why I felt compelled to add that “Mrs.” to my name. There was something oddly disquieting and alluring in the directness of the detective’s manner and the way in which he eyed me. With his pale blue eyes and salt and pepper hair, he reminded me of Paul Newman. Not the young Paul Newman, but an older version of the actor—somewhere in between his Cool Hand Luke and Message in a Bottle days. Where exactly, I couldn’t say.

  “I’m Cornelia Conrad, but everyone calls me Neely.” Neely reached out and grasped the detective’s outstretched hand. I followed her lead and did the same.

  “I take it Deputy Devers is referring to you as the lead investigator on this case?” I asked.

  “Yes. Detective Henry Miller at your service,” he replied, smiling broadly, and still hanging onto my hand.

  “Henry Miller, like the writer?” Neely asked. I pulled my hand away as she asked that question.

  “Yes, although most people call me Hank.”

  “Nice to meet you, Hank,” Joe said as he joined us. “Or should we call you Detective Miller?”

  “Hank will do.”

  “I’m Joe Torrance and this is Carl Rodgers. We can vouch for Edgar if you need character references.” The detective flipped a little notebook open and scanned what must have been notes.

  “Yeah, he’s a character—no doubt about it!” Carl added. Neely and I glanced at each other, shaking our heads. Then we sent Carl our best, coordinated, “not funny” glares. The grin on Carl’s face turned into a scowl.

  “You two are listed as members of the party that stumbled on the body while it was still here, correct?”

  “No, not us, Detective. That was Miriam. Well, Miriam and her dog, Domino,” Carl replied.

  “Miriam and Domino discovered the dead woman, but several others saw the body, too. By the time Joe, Carl, and I got to the crime scene, the body was gone. Didn’t Deputy Devers fill you in on this? He must have told you about the loot we found there, even though the body had been moved.”

  “Of course, I did.” Deputy Devers straightened up. There was little physical resemblance to Don Knotts, but something in the deputy’s demeanor suddenly reminded me of Barney Fife. The annoying scrawny character on an old TV series, starring Andy Griffith as a pleasantly folksy small-town sheriff, often swaggered his way into trouble the sheriff had to clear up. “You all shouldn’t be too quick to take Edgar here off the hook. That ex-girlfriend of his called him the night she was killed.”

  “She did?” I asked. “Not from the dunes, though. You used your satellite phone, but we had to come back up here to the Clubhouse because we couldn’t get a decent signal down there.”

  “We don’t know for sure what calls she made or when since we don’t have her cell phone,” Hank Miller admitted.

  “Then what makes you think she called Edgar?” I asked.

  “Jeanine Carlson, one of her coworkers told us she overheard Diana tell someone on the phone that she was going to call Edgar,” the deputy explained in an annoyed tone.

  “So? That doesn’t mean she called him,” Neely argued.

  “Well the Carlson woman also told us Durand made another call and said ‘Edgar, it’s Dee.’ I’m convinced.”

  “You can be as convinced as you want to be, Deputy. It doesn’t matter one way or the other to me since I didn’t speak to her anyway. If that’s one of your questions, Dete
ctive, I can clear that up for you quickly. Can I go have lunch now?”

  “Did she leave a message?” The detective asked.

  “Maybe. I mostly use the real phone in my cottage. The red light wasn’t blinking on the answering machine, so Dee didn’t call me on that number. I don’t have much luck picking up messages on the cell phone. Who has time to figure out all the voicemail and text messages or whatever else is on that thing?” Edgar dug into a pocket of the odd jacket he wore with madras golf pants.

  “My kids insist I carry it with me in case I get into trouble. ‘Help! I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.’” Edgar whined in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “My daughter says it just like that! She’s watched that silly commercial too many times. Here! Take the phone if you want it. Keep it! Now, if you guys want to ask me more questions, you’ve got to feed me.” The detective took that phone from Edgar and examined it.

  “Do I need a passcode to access your calls?” He asked.

  “A what?” Edgar replied.

  “I guess that’s a no,” Hank muttered as he slid Edgar’s phone into a pocket of his jacket.

  “Please, Detective,” I said. “What difference does it make if Diana called him or not? Do you believe Edgar dragged himself and his little cart out of his cottage, met her on the bluffs, and then killed her? One good whack with her Marc Jacobs tote bag and he would have been on the ground making that ‘help I can’t get up’ call.” I couldn’t hide the exasperation from my voice.

  “He could have done it if one of his geezer pals helped him,” Deputy Devers offered before the detective could answer. The detective rolled his eyes at Devers’ comment and my irritation toward Hank Miller fled.

  “I’ve got this, Darnell. Mrs. Webster makes a valid point.” Hank looked at me again with a good-natured expression on his face—even a twinkle in his eye.