The Price of Candy

by Rod Hoisington

“Surviving is what you were doing. You were lucky. If he’d attacked you inside, you wouldn’t have been saved by some shooter outside. I’m telling you, you need to knock off all your nosing around.”

  “I screwed it all up, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

  “However you handled it, you got out of there. We’ll want a statement from you on what he told you. I’ll set it up.”

  “Can’t you wait on telling the chief? If I’ve valuable information about that old case, maybe I can trade it to Moran for a break on my charges.”

  “Sorry, can’t hold it back. He knows about the shooting last night and it ties into the old beach case. It’s evidence. Remember, he’s watching both of us. I’ll hold off until tomorrow. You’ll still be able to trade the info. Although he might not consider any of it valuable enough to drop your charge.

  “I’m going to study up on the case this afternoon and tomorrow I’m going down to Jensen Beach and see Congressman Kidde.”

  “Freddy Kidde? What’s he got to do with this?”

  “Maybe nothing. I believe he’s part of a triangle. Abby has ten grand and Toby’s mother has an expensive TV. You can bet they didn’t suddenly have all that cash honestly. There must be serious money involved if Abby tried to kill Toby last week to get him out of the deal. Where’d they get it? In the middle of all this, Kevin follows Abby and she goes down to see rich guy Kidde who lives on a completely different planet than the rest of us.”

  “You’re thinking the money’s coming from him.”

  “Maybe they’re doing some dirty work for Kidde, maybe he got himself involved sexually with Abby, or they’re blackmailing him over something. Now we find out Toby was on that beach that night. That is a very big deal. Think about it. Blackmailer Toby there with the body on Privado Beach and he didn’t take her there.”

  “You might be on to something, but let the police take it from here. You’re going to his home? He’ll never see you.”

  “He’ll see me. I always get in to see everybody. I’ll go in the morning. He’ll be shook when he hears about Toby’s murder and that I know Abby paid him a visit. Maybe I can bluff him into blurting something out. I’m pretty good at that.”

  “I doubt it with this man. Politicians are experts at evasion. Ask them one question and they’ll answer a different one. And there’s a much more serious reason for you not to go. Suppose they both were on the beach, and some kind of foul play went down. Only Toby knows that Kidde was there. I think that gives Congressman Kidde an excellent motive for shooting Toby last night. I don’t think it’d be wise for you to go down there.”

  “Or, he shoots Toby to eliminate a blackmailer and scare off Abby. Not bad. Well, I’m going in spite of your objections. He’s not going to murder me in his house. I need to get ready for seeing him. Can I get a copy of the Police Report on the Privado Beach affair and the M.E. report?”

  “Police Report, no problem. The forensic autopsy report isn’t available yet.”

  “Not available? It’s been months. What’s the holdup?”

  “There’s info in there we don’t want the media to publicize.”

  “You mean kinky, prurient interest stuff?”

  “Not really. Just info on what we did and didn’t find.”

  “Triney already told me there’s no trace evidence, no usable DNA.”

  “Apparently he doesn’t hesitate to confide in you.”

  “So tell me, what’s the big secret to be found in the medical examiner’s report?”

  “No biggie. The M.E. was going to guess the victim was some kind of dancer or showgirl except she had waxed away her pubic hair.”

  “Triney didn’t mention the bikini wax job. But dancers and showgirls do that as well,” she offered.

  “I mean completely, not trimmed, not merely around and about. Brazilian waxing he called it. Smooth as a porcelain plate. We never release that type of detail to the media because it’s nobody’s business. Invasion of privacy and all that, not that she had any left. Also, it’s a detail only the perp would know, so that little fact might be used later to validate a suspect.”

  “Some ordinary women do it. Not that unusual, salons and spas routinely do it. Brazilian waxing.”

  “Sure, it might not have anything to do with her occupation.”

  “Any trace of tanning chemicals?”

  “Tanning chemicals?”

  “Performers use spray tans to get beautiful looking skin. It’s a whole industry. Also, I heard that strippers generally have boob jobs. Was that checked out?”

  “I don’t know about the tanning thing. But I can tell you this woman didn’t need any boob enhancement. With the shaving, the physique, and the theatrical makeup the M.E. went with stripper. Didn’t make any difference to us. We were going for an occupation simply for ID and to lead to a suspect.”

  “So the wax job is why I can’t have the M.E. report.”

  “Look, any M.E. report is thick with insignificant details about hair coloring, fingernail polish, mouth and teeth details, blood details...on and on.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you when I get back from seeing the congressman. I need to go online now and read everything the media ever put out about the beach body affair. Get that Police Report for me today, okay?”

  “I know that look. Something else is churning in that brain of yours, isn’t it?”

  “You didn’t tell me it was you who found her body.”

  “I didn’t find her body. Where’d you hear that? Some citizen reported it. I was merely the first police to respond.”

  “You just told me the woman didn’t need a boob job. How did you know she didn’t already have one? How did you know they were real?”

  “You’re getting crazy. I’ve no idea whether they were real. It was just a dumb comment that she didn’t need any enhancement, meaning they were adequate. I didn’t touch her breasts, if that’s what you’re asking. I checked for a pulse. After that, all my attention went to preserving the crime scene. That’s all. End of story. Anyway, no mention of breast enhancement was in the M.E. report.”

  “You mean the one I can’t see.”

  He walked to the door shaking his head. Before he closed the door he said, “Watch yourself with Congressman Kidde. That’s big time stuff. In the meantime, get a grip on yourself.”

  She stood and thought about running after him. Damn her suspicious nature. What was her problem? Why was she so on edge? She was personally involved in too much. It was stressful. She was worried about Jamie, who had confided in her. Trust me Jamie, I know how to handle these things. Was Jamie safe? Was she alive? That preoccupation alone had prompted her to be reckless and enter Abby’s house. There was the obvious stress from her near-death experience with Toby and the shooting. And she was concerned with her own situation knowing Moran could slap her back in jail and put her entire life on hold.

  Too much stress. That was her excuse for making those silly statements to Chip. Connecting the dots is what made her effective. But too much connecting is an excellent way of alienating your significant other.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It would be a good day; Sandy tried to keep that in her mind. The morning was cold and damp. The wind had clocked around and now blew cold air down from Canada. A front was moving through and gray clouds were interrupting Florida’s endless summer. What else? Chip was no doubt annoyed with her, she hadn’t slept well, and was presently irritated because with the foul weather her convertible top must stay up. She told herself again it would be a good day. A good day for the boring drive down U.S. 1 to Jensen Beach. A good day to confront a stuffed-shirt politician and have him say he’d never heard of Abby Olin, and would she please see herself out. She stopped for coffee. That helped. She told herself the day wouldn’t be so bad after all and almost believed it.

  Eventually, her GPS told her to turn off U.S. 1. After several turns toward the ocean, she wound around on a ribbon of spotless asphalt under a canopy of palm trees among the
large houses and beachfront condominiums of an upscale neighborhood. Landscaped gardens and manicured grass flowed around the posh residences like a never-ending golf green. Where there wasn’t green, there were impressive vistas of water. She stopped between two brass lantern-topped pillars at the foot of a long driveway.

  The house of Congressman Frederick J. Kidde, up a slight hill and hidden behind shrubbery and oak trees, was grand and spacious and sat far back from an oversized sloping lawn. Not quite a mansion, yet large and impressive. Of course it’s all grand and glorious, she remembered; there are people who live that way. She swung her Miata convertible up into the circular driveway and parked unobtrusively away from the portico entry. She reconsidered. Her sporty MX-5 wouldn’t look out of place parked in front of the Whitehouse. What the hell. She moved up and parked directly in front of the entry.

  The residence was of a scale that a maid in black and white wouldn’t have surprised her. Instead, a stylish woman with her hair in a classic French twist and wearing beige linen Capri pants with matching top opened the door. She guessed it was Mrs. Kidde. She was wrong.

  “I’m Mrs. Wolff, his secretary. Are you a constituent? I’m sorry, the Congressman doesn’t receive here at his residence. His Florida office is downtown. I’m sure you appreciate this is a private home. Let me give you the office address.”

  “I’m Sandra Reid. Mr. Kidde will be handling something nonpolitical for me. He’ll want to see me immediately.” Sandy stepped passed the woman into the foyer. The woman had no choice but to close the door behind her.

  The woman studied the smile Sandy had frozen on her face. “Wait here please.” She returned in a few minutes. “Regretfully, the congressman will be engaged entirely this morning. But he does want to talk with you. If you could give me your phone number, he’ll be certain to call you as soon as possible.”

  “Mrs. Wolff, I understand your problem. I really do. But skip the ‘Your call is important to us, that’s why we’re putting you on hold’ routine. It’s wasted on me. Now please go and actually speak to him and tell him I’m here.”

  The secretary gave a cynical shrug meaning Kidde should screen his own visitors. Again with the, “Wait here.” After five minutes, she came back and escorted Sandy across the glowing hardwood floors to the congressman’s home office located at the rear of the house.

  Congressman Frederic J. Kidde stood at a large teak desk in front of a built-in teak bookcase that stretched across one long wall of the wood-paneled office. Windows and French doors were opposite, looking out on an lush span of green around the pool and patio area. A perimeter of sabal palms looked down on the peaceful green. Abundant ferns and sculptured shrubs bordered a large terraced area then a broad span of lush lawn sloped down to a shiny-white sport fishing boat undulating comfortably at a private dock on the wide canal.

  The secretary surely had far more important things to do than play hostess, nevertheless she waited politely until his offer of iced tea was turned down. She left and Sandy was alone with the congressman.

  “What should I call you, your Honor, Congressman Kidde, or what?”

  “Freddy.” He motioned toward the over-stuffed leather armchair facing his desk.

  She sat comfortably in the offered chair and looked about the room. On the wall behind his desk was a row of photographs displayed in matching teak frames across the wall. In each, a smiling Congressman Kidde was posed shaking hands with various men. All distinguished looking and all unrecognizable to her except for George H. W. Bush. Sitting now, in real life at his desk, Kidde appeared pleasant, middle-aged, and utterly uptight. So serious in his dark suit and tie, it wouldn’t have surprised her if the coat was permanently buttoned. His rigid formality reminded her of the affluent characters in old movies wearing tuxedos and gowns for a routine dinner at home, sitting alone at opposite ends of an impossibly long table.

  “I apologize for walking in on a U.S. Representative,” she began. “I’ve a confession to make. I don’t know who you are. I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Senators get all the publicity. Congressmen come and go, although I’ve stayed around awhile. You’d better register so you can vote for me. I’m a seven-term congressional representative. Chairman of the House Subcommittee on Natural Resources. Have you heard of the Kidde-Hartford Act? Possibly the best known and consequential of all the laws I’ve sponsored. It prevents coastal communities from building structures that impede recreational boating on the Intracoastal....” He stopped when he noticed she was looking up at the hand carved coving in the corners of the high ceiling. “Excuse the commercial. And who are you again?”

  “Sandy Reid. I’m the one that’s going to cause you a hellava lot of trouble or help you clear up everything. Your choice.” She thought that sounded impertinent enough to get his attention and take control of the conversation.

  He chuckled for the last time that morning. “God, what am I into now?”

  “The situation up in Park Beach.” She didn’t know how she came up with that broad bluff, but it covered a wide area of possibilities. A shotgun is best if you don’t know what you’re shooting at. It did the trick. Kidde reacted badly. He didn’t need to pound his head down on the desk; the distress on his face said it all.

  “Park Beach isn’t within my congressional district,” he said weakly, trying to recover. “I think you’ve made a mistake.”

  “We have to talk about Toby.”

  “I don’t believe I know the name.”

  “No? How about the frizzy blonde who was here three days ago?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now I’m busy. I think perhaps you should leave.”

  In her former job as field investigator, she had perfected a phrase that invariably convinced guilty people she already knew what she was trying to find out. The all-purpose phrase was so broad that it worked with every conceivable wrongdoing from a petty mistake to murder. She’d say the words, look sympathetically at the person, and wait for their conscience to take over. A little guilt can go a long way. Frequently, the person would start confessing or at least talking. Sometimes they’d start crying. She used the magic phrase now, “You hoped all this would go away didn’t you.”

  It worked. He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where do you fit in? Have those two told the entire world?”

  There she had it. A secret he didn’t want told meant blackmail. “Not the entire world, there’s merely the three of us, unless you count the police, the state attorney, the house ethics committee, and the news media.”

  He sat again. He folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head back, and whispered something unintelligible to the ceiling. When he brought his head back down, she noticed an eyelid twitching and his hands were now trembling. This was more serious than she’d suspected. He was as jittery as a trapped bird. She truly felt sorry for him.

  His breath was short, “Miss Reid, please leave.”

  They were putting the shake on him over something. “Look, I’m the one who can get you out of this. Your political career is on the line here. You don’t realize who you’re dealing with.”

  “This is crazy. I’m not going to deal with the three of you. I’m not giving you one cent. I didn’t give that woman anything either. I told her I‘d deal with Toby only. Forget Toby, she said, he was no longer a threat. I must now do business with her. Said she wouldn’t hesitate to ring the bell on me. It was very upsetting. I didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t go for it. I told her to leave. And that’s what I’m telling you right now.”

  The buzzing of his desk phone startled him. He took a deep breath and answered, “No, Mrs. Wolff, I can’t talk to the vice-president just now. I’ll call him back. And hold my calls please.”

  Then to Sandy, “I thought I’d have my staff run a check on her...the blonde.”

  “Do that and your staff will know something’s up.”

  “Perhaps a private investigator.”

  “You don’t need t
o bother. What do you want to know? Her name’s Abigail Olin and she’s a somehow or other girlfriend of Toby Towalski. I can tell you about both. Why don’t I start with Toby since he was murdered two days ago?”

  “What! The man that was here...murdered. Are you sure?”

  “You mean the police haven’t been here yet. Yes, I’m sure. There’s still some blood on my ankle. Want to see it?”

  “Do they know who shot him?”

  “Maybe it was you. Murder is an excellent remedy for blackmail.” She let that one sink in for a full minute. “Where were you two nights ago around 8 p.m.?”

  “You mean I need an alibi? You can’t be serious. You think I would kill someone?”

  “After the police nail down the blackmail angle, how long do you think it’ll take for them to decide you had a good motive to kill him?”

  “Me? I couldn’t do anything like that. Do you really think the police will come here?”

  “It’s a tangled web you’re weaving. Now someone has shot the man who was blackmailing you. Abby Olin’s already under arrest for killing someone else from up north and is out on bail. I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that. So, that's two murders and I haven't gotten to the kidnapping. The police in Park Beach are investigating all of their dealings. They’re already tracing ten grand found at her house, and guess who the money is going to lead back to?” She made up some of that. Eventually it might be true.

  “Who are you anyway? Whose side are you on? Aren’t you in with them?”

  “Stop thinking that money is going to get you out of this. I don’t want any money. I need to know what happened. I witnessed Abby Olin shooting the guy from up north. Later, Toby told me about the beach affair, and then someone, maybe you, shot him in front of me. Also in the middle of all this, someone kidnapped Abby’s ten-year-old daughter. Maybe you were in on that as well.”

  He brought his hands up to cover his face for a moment then shook his head slowly.

  “What did Toby have on you? You’re involved in something criminal, aren’t you?”