Grilled, Chilled and Killed

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “That does it. You’ll get a small dish, no hot fudge, you old gigolo.” Emily grabbed his arm and led him from the room. Donald followed after giving the bed a long look.

  “What did the detective want you to ask me?”

  “Oh, forget it, old man. You know darn well he doesn’t want me interfering on this case, but I remember you introduced me to a lady whose last name was Pratt. Any relation to the victim?”

  Hap stopped in the middle of the hallway and placed his finger to his forehead as if trying to nab a thought from his brain.

  “I forget. This old mind doesn’t work too well unless it’s properly fueled.” Hap gave her a sly look from under his bushy eyebrows.

  “Fine. You can have two scoops, hot fudge sauce and peanuts. That should sky rocket your blood sugar.”

  Chapter 11

  “Don’t dribble any on your suit or tell Clara I fed you ice cream.” Emily handed Hap another napkin to wipe the chocolate off his mustache. “She’ll have my hide, what with your diabetes and all.”

  “She worries too much.” Hap dropped his spoon into the empty sundae dish and settled back into his chair with a sigh.

  Donald crossed and re-crossed his legs while he stared out the shop window. When that gesture didn’t seem to get Emily’s attention, he checked his watch, then tapped the crystal and peered at it with a scowl on his face.

  Emily continued to ignore him.

  “Now about your friend, Mrs. Pratt.” Emily leaned across the table toward Hap.

  Hap’s chin dropped onto his chest and another sigh escaped his mouth followed by a snore.

  “Don’t try to fool me. I know you’re not asleep. I need an introduction, sooner rather than later.”

  “You’re awful impatient, aren’t you? That’s the trouble with you little Yankee gals. Too het up on getting somewhere.”

  “Hap, we’re talking murder here. I’m no more “het up” than the detective. He’s got a man in jail he knows darn well didn’t commit the crime. He’s looking in the wrong direction, but will he listen to me? I’m just one of those little “het up” winter visitors who expects law enforcement to work in a timely manner. It’s personal, like most murders are. Besides, even if I’m wrong, any idiot knows when you get your tips from Toby, something’s amiss.”

  Suddenly Donald seemed to be all ears. “You mean Toby was in on this case? Now that’s just plain dumb. I thought Lewis was smarter than that.”

  Emily might criticize Lewis, but she felt defensive when Donald did. “Well, he didn’t want to involve Toby. It was the county’s idea. Some kind of plea deal, I guess.”

  “Still, Lewis should know better.” Donald shook his head, but his face said he was pleased Lewis fumbled the case.

  Emily ignored Donald and turned her attention to Hap once more. “Have you talked to Mrs. Pratt since the murder? How’s she related to the victim anyway?”

  “He was her brother-in-law and, from what she told me, she wasn’t grieving at his demise. She said he was a grafter and a skirt-chaser.” Hap stopped talking and looked pensive. “Say, honey, maybe you got something there. Maybe it was personal. One of his women got jealous of the others.”

  “Or his wife might have. I’ve got to talk to her.”

  Hap picked up his spoon and licked it. “Okay, I’ll get the two of you together, but it’s gonna take more than a puny dish of ice cream for me to make introductions.”

  A shadow fell over the table. Emily looked up. Behind Hap stood his daughter.

  “Hi, Clara. Join us in a cone?” Emily smiled up into her friend’s face, but Clara’s lips remained drawn across her teeth in a grim line.

  “Whose idea was it to get my daddy to eat ice cream? I’ve got enough on my plate working at the country club and seeing to my son’s inheritance suit. I don’t need a father in a diabetic coma.”

  Some words of apology on Emily’s part, the promise not to do it again on Hap’s and everyone’s heads together over the empty dishes finally led to a settlement: Donald, Emily, Clara, Hap and Mrs. Pratt would have dinner together on Saturday night. We’re going to give Detective Lewis a group to reckon with, thought Emily, a posse made up of two octogenarians, a lawyer, one amateur sleuth with actual detecting experience albeit it minimal and a mean old bass fisherman. Emily mentally pumped her fist in the air. Her only concern was why Donald wanted to be part of it all.

  Clara winked at her, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You’ve got a date with Donald.”

  Emily returned the wink with a look of horror. “I do not.”

  “You do not what?” asked Hap.

  She stared at the tabletop for a minute, then sneaked a look at Donald. Clara was right. She’d never seen Donald look so happy. He was glowing as if he had a big ole bass on his line, and the glow continued long enough for Donald to determine she needed a new battery for old Stan. By the time he’d taken her to buy one and back to the club where he removed the old one and put in a new battery, Donald was back to his grumpy self.

  On Saturday night three couples sat on the outdoor patio at the Sand Shark. Clara brought along her son Darren, an even six at the table.

  Hap made the introductions. “This here is my bridge partner, Mrs. Lorelei Pratt.” The older woman, dressed fashionably in a silver pantsuit, flashed a dazzling smile.

  “Please call me Lorelei.” She ordered a Cosmo, a double, and leaned her elbows on the table. “I hear you’re somewhat of a detective.” She scrutinized Emily with clear hazel eyes. “Hap says you’d like to pick my brain about the murder.”

  Well, that got right to it, thought Emily. At this rate she’d be out of here before the waiter came around again to take their dinner orders. Emily glanced at Donald who had slipped his arm around the back of her chair. She leaned away from him and focused on Lorelei.

  “First, let me say how sorry I am about Everett’s murder.”

  The waiter placed a large martini glass in front of Lorelei. She took a long sip and smacked her lips. “Too much cranberry juice, but otherwise acceptable, which is more than I can say about Everett. I thought about killing him myself on many an occasion. He was so mean to Melanie and her so long suffering. I told her to get rid of him years ago.”

  “Did you tell her how?” asked Emily, then clapped her hand to her mouth. “Sorry. That was rude.”

  Lorelei narrowed her eyes. “Am I a suspect? Cuz if I am, I guess I have a choice of whether to hire Hap or you, Clara, as legal representation.”

  “Emily’s from New York.” Donald spit out the name of the state as if declaring her origins somehow explained her lack of manners.

  Everyone at the table nodded and looked sympathetic.

  “I can’t help where I’m from.” She took a slug of her wine and choked.

  “Of course not, and we forgive you.” Lorelei handed Emily a tissue to stop the flow of tears.

  “Thanks.” Emily blew her nose and reached for her water glass.

  “You’re not responsible for where you were born.” Donald encircled her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

  Everyone nodded again.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being from New York.” Donald had to be lying. She knew he thought it was almost criminal to be born outside of Florida. She quickly corrected herself. To Donald, it was a sin to be born outside this county.

  “How can you stand all that concrete?” Lorelei wrinkled up her nose.

  “I’m from the state, not the city.”

  “What’s the difference?” Hap winked at her.

  Emily decided it was time to get off her Yankee origins and get back to the murder. “Never mind. You were talking abut Everett. How are you related to him?”

  “Melanie and I married the Pratt brothers. One was a drunk and a womanizer, the other, my dear departed Charles, the best man in the county. A good provider, loving husband and father, a good Christian man. Not much to brag about in the sack. Not like you, huh, Hap?

  Hap raised his glass in a
salute. Lorelei smiled at him, then slid her eyes in Donald’s direction.

  That’s more than I needed to know, thought Emily, and less than I need to solve this murder.

  “Everett took after his scallywag of a father and Charles after his mother, a real gentle soul. Everett was the youngest in the family, the baby and spoiled rotten.”

  “Did you know he was such a great cook?” asked Emily.

  “The man couldn’t cook his way out of a tunnel with an exit sign pointing toward the door.”

  “He won a lot of contests to be so bad at it.” Donald signaled the waiter for another round of drinks, but the waiter dashed by the table without a momentary sideways glance.

  “I’ll tell you who the cook was. It was Melanie. And I’ll bet the recipe was her daddy’s. Everett was probably a thief as well as philanderer.” Lorelei slammed her empty Cosmo glass on the table. “Where’s a darn waiter when you need one?”

  Oh, oh. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. She wanted to talk to Melanie without Lorelei suspecting Emily had her at the top of the list as a murder suspect. Maybe she’d go at it another way, the way a Yankee with no manners would.

  “Here’s my theory about the murder. I think one of his uh, women, did him in, probably got tired of waiting for him to get rid of Melanie or got jealous of one of his other women. Doesn’t that seem possible? I’d sure like to know what Melanie thinks about this whole thing, but Detective Lewis wants to see the motive as related to barbeque competition.” Emily sat back in her chair and watched the reaction on Lorelei’s face.

  “Why wouldn’t you think of the wife first? Isn’t that what all the television shows say? You wouldn’t be wanting to back poor Melanie into a corner and pin this murder on her, would you?” Lorelei’s hazel eyes took on the color of storm clouds.

  That’s a possibility, thought Emily, but she shook her head and tried to look shocked at such an idea.

  “I met Melanie the night of the murder. She sure didn’t seem like a woman who had just killed her husband. She appeared to be in shock to me.”

  Lorelei nodded in agreement. “Just so.”

  Emily’s attention was drawn away from the table by a couple entering the restaurant. It was Lewis and his wife, er, ex-wife, Emily corrected herself. What was she doing in town? Emily waved at them. Dumb, Emily, she said to herself. Why did she do that? The last thing she wanted was to get up close and personal with the ex-wife. And she was the ex-wife, Emily reminded herself, emphasis on the ex part.

  He took his wife’s, er, ex-wife’s arm and led her over to Emily’s table. Hap stood and made the introductions.

  “You’re Melanie Pratt’s sister-in-law, aren’t you?” Lewis’ eyes had taken on the look of a predator about to pounce on his prey. Maybe Lewis was working the personal angle as well as the business competitor angle, thought Emily. Best not to underestimate the man.

  “Don’t let us take you away from your evening out.” Emily wanted him gone from the table so she could pursue her line of questioning without the detective horning in on her act.

  “Why don’t you join us, Detective Lewis?” Lorelei patted the seat next to hers. “There’s lots of room, and Emily here was asking me about Everett. I won’t have to tell my story twice.”

  “I’m sure the detective wants to get away from work on his night out.” Donald spoke through clenched teeth. “All work and no play, right Mrs. Lewis?”

  “I took back my maiden name. It’s Milford, but call me Adrienne.” She slid into the empty chair beside Donald and smiled at him with more intimacy than Emily thought called for in public. Emily suddenly found herself leaning toward Donald. Earlier she had wanted to sit as far away as possible, but this woman seemed to make Emily’s estrogen boil over.

  Lewis ignored the chair next to Lorelei, but pulled out the one nearest his ex-wife. Before he could sit, Adrienne touched his shoulder and shook her head.

  “Be a dear and get me a gin and tonic, would you? You know how slow the service is in here.”

  Lewis reddened a bit, but headed toward the bar.

  Adrienne locked eyes with Emily. “I hear you and my ex had to share a shower the night of the hurricane at Jekyll Island.”

  Well, that did it, thought Emily. She hated the woman.

  “You what?” Donald withdrew his arm from her chair.

  “Could we just talk about murder?” Clara had been silent for most of the conversation, but her face said she’d gladly change her birthplace to somewhere north of the Mason-Dixon line just to get some information out of Lorelei. “It’s so much simpler.”

  Adrienne wrinkled up her nose, but Clara dismissed her obvious distaste with a flap of her hand. “You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to, but, as a member of the court, I am intensely interested in solving this case.”

  Adrienne looked at Clara for a moment as if she was thinking about saying something, but she shifted her gaze back to Emily. “What’s your interest in the case? Other than my husband, that is?”

  “Your ex-husband, you mean. And other than him, I stumble onto dead bodies with some regularity, and I just like to hang out with cops, I guess.” Emily thought she heard Donald growl. “Oh, and bass fisherman, too, especially when they go after fish and find a dead body.”

  “You did that? You found a dead body too?” Adrienne batted her eyelashes at Donald.

  “Once, just once, and it was Emily who caught it on her line. That was last year. We wrapped up that case long ago, but if you’re interested, I can take you out in my boat and show you…”

  Without a word, Adrienne got up from the table and walked off toward the bar where Emily watched her grab Lewis’ coat and pull him toward the door.

  “Damned short attention span. She was married to a detective. I thought she’d like talking about cases.” Donald looked genuinely sorry to see her go. Everyone else seemed to welcome her absence.

  “I apologize for asking the two of them to join us.” Lorelei’s voice sounded sad for only a minute, then changed. “Where is that waiter? I am dry as a gator hole in a drought.”

  “You said you thought of killing Everett yourself on occasion.”

  “Tenacious little thing, aren’t you?” Lorelei narrowed her eyes at Emily. “But I like your honesty. The man was killed with a barbeque poker, I understand.”

  Emily nodded.

  “Well, that’s not the way I’d do it.”

  “It’s not the way most women would murder someone,” Clara added.

  “I’d kill him slowly. Make it look like he was sick of something. Poison, of some kind, that’s what I’d recommend.”

  “Poison? Like rat poison, maybe?”

  Everyone looked up from the table toward the man who spoke. Detective Lewis stood there, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. His gaze travelled around the table and came to rest on Emily. A slow smile replaced his earlier frown.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You think you can find out who the poisoner is before I can? I’ll bet you a bottle of shower gel.”

  “What did he say to you?” Donald hadn’t spoken a word since they left the restaurant and got into his truck. She knew the evening wasn’t quite what he had planned, but she’d be darned if she’d try to make it up to him by sharing Lewis’ snide comment.

  Despite Lewis’ put down of her sleuthing skills, her evening wasn’t entirely a bust. She and Lorelei had arranged for lunch tomorrow without the others. Emily wanted to know more about the family. She didn’t believe she was the one who was lacing Everett’s food with poison. It had to be someone close to him. Like Melanie. Or one of his lady friends. Or someone in the family. Surely not the Bassett hound. Naomi told her the son was an unfriendly guy. She wondered who lived with Everett and his wife. Was there poison in the house, perhaps in the gardening shed or storeroom or under the sink? Did the poisoner get impatient with how long it was taking to kill Everett and decide to bash him in the head to get the job done faster? A million
questions pounded in her brain. Lewis would know some of the answers, but she wasn’t going to ask him.

  “You’re mighty quiet.” Donald looked away from the road to gaze at Emily’s face.

  “Watch it!”

  Donald turned his attention back to the road ahead just as a large creature crossed in front of the truck. He slammed on the brakes and swerved into the left lane, missing the retreating form as it dashed off into the palmetto and scrub on the other side of the highway.

  “What was that?” Emily’s voice shook and her fingers tingled with residual fear at having almost collided with the animal.

  “Feral pig. I missed it. Good thing too. This one was big. It might have caused a lot of damage to the truck if I’d hit it.”

  “What about damage to the people in the truck?” Emily shivered at the thought of lying injured on the dark road at this time of night. Not many people came this way.

  “Oh, sure. That too.” Donald slowed the truck and sneaked a look at her. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Where do those things come from? Some farmer’s field? They ought to have better fences.”

  Donald laughed. “They’re feral, wild pigs. No one owns them. There are thousands of them around here. A few are pure bred Eurasian boars, but most are hybrids, a cross between the boars and domestic pigs.”

  “Just when I think I’m getting used to this place, something pops up to make me uneasy. Gators, and now feral pigs.”

  “Well, this land belongs to the gators, but the pigs, well, they were brought in by the Spaniards.”

  “When I was a kid we visited my uncle’s farm. One of the sows had a litter of little ones. They sure were cute.”

  Donald snorted. “Stay far away from these pigs. They grow four large incisors, razor sharp, and the mamas get very upset if you come between them and their little ones.”

  It as always something, thought Emily. If the gators, mosquitoes and the pigs don’t get you, then a dead body might. She sat back in her seat and longed for the comfort of her little apartment up north where the only pigs were the ones at the market in the form of pork chops. She sighed. Might as well admit it. I’m Yankee through and through.