Second Chance at Love

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  The brown Cuban lizards were crowding out the smaller, more vivid American anoles. Each time Lou caught sight of the slender indigenous fellows, he wanted to do a Rocky-Balboa-on-the-steps type of cheer for the under-dog.

  Lou walked around the building so he could face the east and get a good whiff of the ocean. He loved living in Florida almost as much as he loved police work. Every day, he silently thanked Bucky for dragging him back into his chosen profession.

  Lou's middle name was Michael, and he liked to imagine himself to be an Archangel defending the gates of heaven. Okay, maybe not an angel, but a guardian. What was the Treasure Coast if not Paradise?

  He intended to keep it that way.

  CHAPTER 17

  After eating every crumb on my plate. I helped my new friend clear the table. There wasn’t much to do, but I’m not used to sitting, especially if someone else is working. Skye and I made a good team, dispatching the mess quickly.

  “I trust Lou,” Skye said slowly, as she dried her hands on a towel in the tiny kitchen. “I trust him with my life, but once you get into the legal system, it's hard to get back out.”

  I nearly muttered, “Don't I know it.”

  “If I were you,” she continued, “I wouldn't talk until you get a lawyer. You need to watch your back, girlfriend.”

  There was more to Skye than I'd originally thought. More darkness and more sorrow.

  She glanced at the clock on the stove. “We need to hustle. It won't look good if you show up late,” she said.

  The thought of going another round with a law enforcement office made my stomach knot up. But there was no help for it.

  After we got into her car, I rolled down my window and guided the conversation to Skye's love of crafts. As she talked happily about the subject, I learned two new vocabulary words. “Upcycling” was the conversion of waste materials into new objects. “Repurposing” was the use of an item for a purpose not originally intended. Of course, “recycling” was the breaking down of old objects into items of lesser quality or discrete items. Skye was fascinated by all three activities.

  “It's about giving things a second chance rather than consign them to a landfill,” she explained.

  “How'd you get into this?”

  “Being broke. When you don't have a lot of money, you learn to make do,” she said.

  “You're a terrific waitress,” I said, “but your skills are wasted on that job with the sort of artistic talent you have.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose I should sell stuff, but I haven't tried to yet. Maybe I'm scared of rejection.”

  “My family owned a restaurant. I still do, sort of. That and a catering business. I'm selling both on contract to a couple of our employees. My dad would try new recipes all the time. While he hated the rejection of a bad idea, he loved the feedback when he hit on a good one.”

  “I think I'd be okay if I had a partner, like your employees had with you. But since I'd be in it all by myself, if people didn't like what I did, I'm not sure I could take it. It would eat away at my confidence.”

  “It's a shame Essie isn't still alive. I'm sure she'd have been happy to sell your merchandise.”

  “Have you thought about what you're going to do with the building? Last night I thought you told your grandfather you hoped to keep him in business.” She blushed and added, “Sorry to have eavesdropped.”

  “How could you have helped overhearing? Yeah, well, you saw how Poppy reacted. So much for gratitude. I'll probably just sell The Treasure Chest. Maybe fix it up a little and try to flip it. I might even see if I can back out of the deal. Pay a penalty and move on. I'll find a good lawyer and hear what my options are, but dumping it seems the best way to go.”

  I had also flirted with the idea of keeping the building and starting a business myself. But that wasn't anything I was ready to share.

  “Boy, oh, boy. I wouldn't get rid of it if I were you.” Her eyes turned huge with concern. “Have you thought this through? Selling is out of the question. Especially right now.”

  “Why?” Her tone annoyed me. I'd been in business all of my life. Who was she to suggest I was making a wrong move?

  “Look. I know you didn't kill Hal Humberger. But this is a small town. People will want this wrapped up quickly. Police Chief Reiss will be under a lot of pressure. So will Lou.”

  “So?” I didn't care about what the people in Stuart thought. Nor was I particularly concerned about Detective Murray's boss. I was more worried about getting my life back and saying goodbye to Stuart.

  “As your story stands, you don't have a motive. According to your statement, you tricked—” and Skye let go of the steering wheel long enough to make quotation marks with her fingers”—Hal Humberger into selling you that property. So you got the best of him. If you sell The Treasure Chest, it might look like you were the one who was tricked. People might say that you killed him after your grandfather explained to you that you were snookered.”

  The logic behind her statement was a shock, and I gasped.

  “Remember, there are witnesses who heard your grandfather shouting that you'd made a mistake. Lots of people were there at Pumpernickel's,” she added.

  I stared out the window. As much as I hated to admit it, Skye had a point. A good one. Dad used to say, “Perception is reality.” If people thought I'd been tricked, they could easily cast me as Hal Humberger's killer.

  “What are you suggesting that I do?”

  “Stick around. At least until the murder is solved. Act eager to take possession. That'll show you don't feel guilty about his death. Remember, this is Stuart. A small town. People will talk. Use it to your advantage.”

  She was right.

  “The way your mind works is scary,” I said.

  “Just be glad I'm on your side.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Lou wasn't sure whether Ms. Delgatto had changed her clothes or not. She was wearing a white V-neck tee and jeans, the same as she'd worn the night before.

  On the other hand, he totally approved of Skye's gauzy skirt, sweater, and boots. A very Stevie Nicks sort of outfit. Outfit? Was that what women called their clothes? He wasn't sure and he certainly couldn't compliment her under the circumstances. When Skye walked past him and down the hallway, the fresh scent of vanilla drifted after her. Without realizing it, a grin broke out on his face. Skye had that effect on him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Lou noticed that Ms. Delgatto had noticed his reaction to Skye.

  Showalter whispered, “You're acting like a love-sick schoolboy, pal. Cut it out.”

  Once he got Skye and Detective Ollie Anderson situated in the first interview room, Lou escorted Ms. Delgatto into a second room and closed the door. A night's sleep had done Ms. Delgatto a world of good, but her newly rested personage proved much less cooperative than she'd been last night. After rereading her statement, she said, “That's all I have to say without benefit of counsel.”

  A smart move. Not helpful, but smart. He couldn't really blame her, although it would make his job more difficult.

  “But your statement says that you tricked Hal Humberger?” Detective Murray raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sometimes if you continued to ask questions, the interviewee would cave and respond.

  “I want to talk to a lawyer.”

  “Any idea who was the real intended buyer for the property?”

  “I want to talk to a lawyer.”

  Lou knew the answer to his question. Ollie had visited the Humberger home last night to inform Philomena Humberger that her husband was dead. She'd sobbed a lot, talked a little, and explained that Cooper Rivers was the intended purchaser. Whether Mr. Rivers and Ms. Delgatto knew each other was an area Lou intended to explore.

  “Kind of odd that you'd up and write a big check like that.” Lou kept his body language relaxed as he probed Ms. Delgatto's story. “Most people think hard before plunking down a lot of money. Especially for a property they're unfamiliar with.”

  “It isn't.
”

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  “Isn't what?”

  “It isn't unfamiliar. For the first fifteen years of my life, I spent a part of every summer here in Stuart. My family and I often rented the upstairs apartment from Essie Feldman. I knew Essie and I loved her shop.”

  He frowned. “Most people don't go around writing checks for large dollar amounts on the spot. How'd you happen to have that much money in your checking account? You always so flush with cash?”

  “I recently sold my home in St. Louis.”

  “You had money to burn?”

  “That's not how I would describe—” and she paused, remembering herself. “As I have said repeatedly, I want representation.”

  “No problem. We can terminate this interview,” said Detective Murray. “But could you help me with one small thing? Is there anyone in St. Louis who could vouch for you? Tell me that you're a good egg and all that? Someone who knows your history?”

  The color drained from Ms. Delgatto's face. She swayed in her chair and for one amazing moment, Detective Murray thought she might faint.

  “You okay?” he prodded.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  “A Diet Dr Pepper,” she said.

  The specificity of her request struck him as funny, but if that's what it took to pry more information from the woman, so be it. Detective Murray turned off the tape recorder and excused himself with, “Be right back.”

  “What do you think?” he asked Showalter.

  “Probably same thing you do. There's something in her past that she wants to forget.”

  “Right. But does that mean she's guilty of murdering Humberger?”

  “No. But it does mean you'll have to uncover what happened if you want to clear her. Whatever you learn, it might not be pretty. But you already figured that, didn't you?”

  “Yup.” Detective Murray's quarters clinked their way through the vending machine. A cold plastic bottle tumbled into the trough.

  Ms. Delgatto brightened up when she saw the burgundy and white label. She thanked him and caressed the bottle before taking a drink. After regaining her composure, she glanced down at her phone and said, “Call Police Chief Robbie Holmes at this number.”

  “I'll do that. A police chief? Pretty impressive.”

  “Police Chief Holmes has known me all my life,” she added. “Now unless you plan to arrest me, I assume I'm free to go.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “You okay?” asked Skye, as we got into her car.

  “Yeah.” I tucked Detective Murray's card into my purse. I'd also asked for and received a photocopy of my police statement. That went into the purse, too. “Could you give me a ride to my grandfather's gas station? I guess I'd better make up with him. Otherwise I might never get my car back.”

  We rode in silence. Since the Gas E Bait is downtown, we arrived in no time. However, the place was closed up, and Poppy was nowhere to be found.

  “Would you mind taking me to his house?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “What's the address?”

  I was quiet the whole way to Poppy's. I wasn't entirely sure whether I should trust Skye or not. On one hand, she seemed to be looking out for me. On the other hand, she and Detective Murray looked at each other with barely concealed affection. The true nature of their relationship wasn't clear to me. I was all out of trusting impulses for the moment.

  “If you aren't comfortable staying at Dick's, you can come back to my place. My roommate comes home tomorrow, but you will always be welcome.” Skye paused.

  “Thanks, but you've already done more than enough. Poppy and I need to work this out.”

  “It's an open-ended invitation, but I do have to warn you,” she continued. “It's not an ideal situation in the best of times. My roommate Terra and I have different tastes. When I moved in, she didn't have a guy, and now that she does, it can be awkward. Either they're cooing like turtle-doves or fighting like banshees.”

  We crossed over the railroad tracks that divided Stuart from Port Salerno. “I might as well get things settled with Poppy, so we can move on.”

  “He's not really such a bad guy.”

  “Poppy? He's grumpier than I ever remember.”

  “I meant Lou. Detective Murray.”

  “Maybe, but a cop is a cop. Most of them are in it for one thing, to get a conviction. They don't care whether they trash people's lives! They're careless. They think they're doing a public service, but they get these blinders on and forget that the harm they do—” I stopped. I'd said too much already. I shut up.

  We drove a bit in silence.

  “Well,” said Skye after a while, “you are right about your grandfather. I've noticed that when Dick comes into the deli, and he's hungry, he's snappish and forgetful. When did he last get checked by a doctor?”

  “Beats me.” I knew I should care, but at the moment, I didn't. I was upset and depressed. Poppy wasn't really my problem.

  Except that he was.

  I leaned my forehead against the passenger side window, savoring the cool of the glass against my skin. Of course, Poppy was my problem. He was family. I'd get over this hump, this hassle, and we'd move on.

  Dad once said that families are like a train except that the cars can't be uncoupled. The engines change as one generation hands over leadership to the next, but the cars are joined for the long haul, even going over bad rails and rough crossings, they shudder along through good weather and bad.

  Skye smiled over at me. “It's going to be all right, Cara. The Universe is testing your resolve. Whenever we make a change, the static forces align and form this wall. We have to tear it down or climb over it. As we do, we get strong-er.”

  “I'm not especially interested in being stronger. I've been taking care of everyone and everything for more than a year now, since my mom was first diagnosed with cancer. In the past six months, I've lost my mother, my father, and my dog. My kid went off to college. I've been strong, Skye, but now I'm tired. Really tired. “

  “How can I help?” She turned off of Cove Road and into the Manatee Creek subdivision.

  I stared out the window as we drove by the entrance. It looked to me like it had been newly landscaped. I didn't remember a kiddy park.

  “Better yet, what can you do for yourself?” Skye asked, as she pulled into Poppy's drive. “You have to take care of yourself or you won't be able to get through this. I can see your aura is thin. You need propping up.”

  Just what I needed, a psychic consult. As kind as she had been to me, right now I'd had enough of Skye and her advice.

  “When I'm upset, I like to clean. Organize stuff. Make plans,” I said, hoping to shut her up.

  “Is that what you do for fun?”

  I opened my mouth to snap at her, but the expression of kindness on her face stopped me. Skye was my only friend here in Stuart. Sure, she was full of advice, but she meant well. The gentle light that shone from her eyes lifted my load. A little.

  “Truth is, I don't know what to do for fun. I've never taken the time to think about that. I appreciate all you've done for me. You've been a blessing, Skye. I owe you. The tip I left doesn't cover it! How can I repay you?”

  Her eyes danced with happiness. “You'll think of something.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Lou was pleased to learn that the Hal Humberger autopsy had been given a high priority by Medical Examiner Reece Farraday. Tucking the phone under his ear, Lou readied his pen and paper to take notes on what Dr. Farraday found. The official report wouldn't be ready until later.

  “Thanks for sending this stiff my way,” drawled Farraday, a Georgia transplant. “Made a nice change of pace from your usual old farts dying in their beds 'naturally' while their trophy wives watch over them. I tell you, Detective, there's a simple honesty in bonking someone over the head.”

  Lou hated this sort of loose banter. To his mind, the dead deserved respect. Rever
ence. He had to bite his tongue rather than shout, “They have feelings, too!” Of course, he realized how silly that would sound.

  “Your victim was dealt a neat blow,” Farraday continued. “No muss, no fuss. No bloody mess either. He was dead before he hit the ground.”

  “You mean the floor. Hal Humberger was dead before he hit the floor.”

  “Actually, I meant the concrete.”

  “Excuse me? We found him in a building over off of Ocean Boulevard. There's a wooden floor. Parts are covered with linoleum, but it’s peeling off. I've seen it.”

  “Right, and your victim collapsed on a concrete surface. I can tell by the abrasions on his forehead. There were also scuff marks on the toes of his shoes. A shard of gravel inside one of them. Dust on the knees of his pants. Mr. Humberger was dragged along concrete. Did your building have a poured concrete floor anywhere inside? Maybe in a basement?”

  “No.”

  “I'm telling you that you have a crime scene, but you haven't found the scene of the crime,” Farraday said.

  Lou gnashed his teeth. “Crime scenes” are places related to the commission of a crime. “Scene of the crime” is the specific place where a crime occurred.

  “Dr. Farraday, are you saying that Hal Humberger was killed somewhere other than The Treasure Chest building? And transported?”

  “Bingo! Ding-ding-ding! You win a stuffed toy!” shouted the Medical Examiner. “Yep. He was deposited at a secondary crime scene.”

  “All right,” said Lou. “So the cause of death is a blow to the head?”

  “An intracerebral hemorrhage caused by a subdural hematoma.”

  “What's the murder implement?”