by Norma Huss
Teddy pushed the button again, and Lizzie said, “...at him, ‘Then go, stupid!’ Hey, that ain’t loving words like she spouted at first.”
“Did she ever call him by his real name?” was Teddy’s next question.
Lizzie answered. “Can’t remember. Why don’t you just ask me right out, do I know his name?”
“Okay, what was his name?”
“Brandon Bates. I used to be his neighbor when I was a whole lot younger and he was a little boy. I wasn’t always a witch, you know.”
Teddy stopped the recording. “So, do you know him?”
“Brandon Bates? Her boyfriend?” Would that explain his interest in me—for Nicole’s boat? And Lizzie used to be his neighbor? I wiped my face with the tail of my T and started walking again. “They probably went to the same dance class or wherever little rich kids go.”
“So I really need the story if you find out who killed Nicole. Did she give you any ideas about who killed her?”
This was way too much. Teddy wanted a scoop from a ghost? “Hey, Nicole’s ghost doesn’t tell me anything. She doesn’t know anything. All she wants is to find out who killed her. And now you do too?”
“Since Nicole’s ghost doesn’t know who killed her, it must have been a stranger. Think about it. Remember your career for the Lime Street Detective Agency. How about it?”
“You call that a career? A third grade career?” I shrugged. “So you’re looking for a big story to keep your job.”
“You are absolutely right. A gossip column won’t do it. I need something bigger than the latest garage band.”
I ducked though the broken fence between Bayside and Smith Harbor Marina. I could tell her what a big time liar Brandon Bates was. Hardly front page news. He’d told me that he didn’t know Nicole. “Guess you’re on the way to work.”
“Not due there quite yet.”
“I have ice. Stop in for a few minutes? I seem to remember our neighborhood detective agency did a lot of yakking.”
“Doug was big on planning the next move.”
After we’d settled in the relative coolness inside Snapdragon—cool mainly because we were out of the sun, Teddy and I sat and crunched ice from paper cups.
“How do I find a big story in Smith Harbor?” Teddy asked. “Capturing Nicole’s killer is the only one I can think of.”
“How about adding a little character assassination to your column? The behind-the-scenes exposé of local residents. You could do one on Brandon Bates. You tell me he was engaged to Nicole and he tells me he never met her.”
“If you believe the old lady. But anything’s possible. Hey, you do know Brandon Bates. What’s he like? How do you know him?”
“He’s taking the same class I am. I’m taking it to get licensed as a captain again. Don’t know why he’s taking it.”
“Okay, neither of us met Brandon, or Nicole when we were kids. They may not have met each other. So, why....”
“Simple. We went to public school and they went to private school. And how many private schools are there in Smith Harbor? One. Figure the odds on that.”
“Who says they both stayed in Smith Harbor for school?”
“Maybe not, but how many recreational choices are there for children of the rich? The yacht club in Queensboro. That’s it.”
Teddy sipped more ice water and crunched more ice.
I did too until I heard, “Permission to come aboard.”
It was Kaye. I glanced at Teddy. From her surprised expression, I knew it wasn’t a planned event this time.
“Come aboard,” I yelled.
“Oh, it is a darling boat,” we heard.
At the same time I mouthed, “My mom,” at Teddy, she mouthed back, “Your mother!”
She jumped up, then sat back down. “You’re not going anywhere,” I whispered as Kaye, with Mom in tow, ducked through the door.
“Welcome aboard,” I said, then, acting the perfect hostess, asked, “Ice water, anyone?”
“That would be delightful,” Mom said. “And my goodness, look who’s here. Teddy Huertes, I haven’t seen you in so long. I understand you’re a star reporter now. How thrilling.”
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Landis,” Teddy said, “but I’m not a star reporter, just one of the staff.”
I had to chuckle as I got the ice out. Teddy had never learned how to deflect Mom from her over-the-top admiration. But then, neither had I.
And, true to form, Mom was on a roll. “I’m so glad you children still get together. It’s like old times, isn’t it? Now all you need is that nice neighbor boy Doug. You do know he’s a police officer now, don’t you? You children are all doing so well. Your sister Pearl a perfect mother, Kaye a professor, Teddy a reporter, Doug a police officer, and Cyd will soon be a ship captain again.”
As I handed Mom a cup of ice water, she added, “Cyd, I understand you own this lovely trawler. But you must be careful. That jewel thief who formerly owned this boat is about to get out of jail. I do hope that rumor isn’t true. Is it?”
She waited for an answer. My mouth hung open, then I looked at Kaye. An embarrassed Kaye, I might add. An embarrassed Kaye who admitted, “I’ve done a bit more research. Pop did steal some jewelry that was never recovered. The rumor is, he hid it somewhere. Evidently, no one knew about Snapdragon.”
And, of course, she’d told Mom, who looked at me with the pleasant expectation that I’d answer absolutely anything. And I would. Usually. That story could be true, but no way would I tell her that.
“Just a rumor, Mom,” I said. “I’ve been cleaning everywhere on this boat. No hiding places. No jewels.”
“I’m sure, with your knowledge of boats, you would know that,” Mom said, and I knew I’d worry for two days at least. She added, “Although, it could be dangerous. I know danger has never bothered you, but remember that terrible criminal.”
Teddy jumped up. “I have to leave for work,” she said, then, sensing Mom’s unspoken questions—something we’d all perfected years ago, she added, “I work nights with my new column. You know, Teddy Tonight.”
“A column you have! Oh, my. You children are amazing.”
Teddy swooped on Mom, gave her the requisite cheek kiss, and escaped.
Kaye said, “So you see, Mom, Cyd is perfectly okay. Like I told you on the phone. You didn’t really need to come see for yourself.”
“But I’m so glad you did,” I said, hugging Mom, making points, and trying to forestall any other scheme she might have plotted.
Didn’t work.
“Now, Cyd, I’m sure you have this all planned out,” she said. “You need a marketing plan to sell this lovely boat. I happen to know a young man who is quite capable. And I’m sure, with his help, you can overcome that lingering gangster connotation. Why don’t I....”
“Mom, I have a lot of work to do, fixing the boat up first.”
But she had even more to say. “With your career about to keep you occupied, I happen to know another young man who....”
“Mom. No young men. No old men.” I threw a venomous glare Kaye’s way. “Mother, I know you are thinking of my welfare, but please let me handle any man situation. Which is not going to happen for a long time.” Maybe forever, I told myself. “I could use your help finding a slip for my boat. Are any of Grammy’s open right now?”
“I should know but I don’t. I’ll get right on it.” One thing about Mom. Her feathers didn’t ruffle easily. She patted my hand. “Dear, I have absolute confidence in your judgment.” She’d obviously intercepted my scowl at Kaye, because she added, “And I know you girls love and care for each other. I am truly blessed with the best children in creation.”
Kaye sighed. She didn’t say, “Group hug,” nor did I.
Mom sipped a bit of ice water before she said, “Kaye, did you have anything else to tell Cyd? You told me so many of the most amazing things.”
“I think you hit them all, Mom.”
“Then we must leave. I really s
hould take you girls out to dinner, but I’m the Ways and Means committee chair and we are having a community yard sale on Saturday. Tonight is a very important meeting, and I mustn’t be late. All right if I drop you off on the way, Kaye?”
“Sure.” Kaye flashed that so-what-could-I-do? look I knew all too well.
“Your father sent his love.” Mom hugged me, we did the cheek kiss at the door, and suddenly, they left. Mom had checked in with her most difficult child, assured herself that I’d survive, preferably due to her wise council, and went on to take care of everyone else.
And I would survive. I simply wouldn’t think about Al, or selling the boat, or....
I grabbed a paper cup half full of water and threw it at the sink. Water splashed, hitting everything but the sink. “Okay, now you’ve got something else to mop up,” I told myself. I didn’t need to channel Scarlet O’Hara, even if tomorrow was another day!
~ ~
As I nibbled my supper, I studied. I’d just turned another page of the booklet that came with the class when I heard a commotion on the finger pier.
A deep voice said, “Hello Snapdragon. Anybody home?”
Not Kaye. Not anyone I knew. I yelled back, “No, I’m studying. It’s too late for company. Go away.” However, I heard several clumping feet boarding my boat. I jumped up and ran to the door.
Police, three policemen. None that I’d seen before. State troopers—not Officer Doug.
The one in front said, “I’m sorry Ma’am, but you’ll have to vacate Snapdragon. The owner has not given you permission to live on his boat.”
Chapter 12
Three troopers—state law enforcers, huge, burly men—stood with gun belts and bulky shirts that spoke of bullet-proof vests underneath. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. No stutter, no, “What?” Nothing. The man in front held up a paper.
“This boat, Snapdragon, was the property of one Nicole Joline who died intestate, that is, without a legal will,” he said. “Therefore, it is now the property of the next of kin.”
Anger over the whole stupidity of repeated demands finally ignited my voice. “Don’t you guys get together with each other? Check with the local police. Officer Yarnell from Smith Harbor has already gone through this, and left. Nicole Joline gave Snapdragon to me, and I have the title to prove it.”
I darted inside, opened the drawer with the title copies, and grabbed one. I returned and flapped the paper in his face. “This is a copy. After someone broke in, I put the original in a safe-deposit box.”
The cop grabbed the paper and read. “Title of ownership.” He scanned it, then added, “Owner, Nicole Joline or Cyd Denlinger. That name tacked on, that’s you?” After I nodded, he said, “One can do wonders with Photo Shop, I understand.”
I reached for the paper, but when the cop hung on. “Look at it. I registered the title change at the court house.”
“Oh?”
“And that is a certified copy. Witnessed and signed by a Notary Public.”
“And you expect this to hold up in court?”
“That’s what my lawyer says. Does your next of kin have any better document?”
“I have this order to escort you and any of your property off the boat. It is signed by Judge Haley. Certainly you’ve heard of Judge Haley.”
“That’s just plain wrong. The judge never saw a title because your next of kin does not own my boat. In fact, you are trespassing. Please leave.”
“Cyd Denlinger, are you disobeying an order from a judge?”
“No, I’m protecting my property.”
“I’m authorized to arrest you if you do not leave willingly.”
“I don’t believe it!” I grabbed my cell phone, punched in Kaye’s number and waited for her to answer.
“Please put that phone down.”
“Do you want to be sued for false arrest? I registered this title.” I listened to the ring in my ear and watched as one cop glance at another. Kaye didn’t answer.
“Ma’am, are you resisting arrest?”
I shook my head as I backed up and yelled as my sister’s phone kept ringing, “Call my lawyer and come over to my boat as soon as you can.” I darted inside, pushed the door shut and locked it. I yelled out, “If you cops damage my boat, you’ll pay to repair it.”
They muttered to each other. I checked my numbers on the phone then dialed another one. Wes. He’d witnessed our signatures.
From outside the boat I heard one of the cops say, “It’s all legal. Shall we chop down the door?”
“So maybe her paper is legal too.”
I heard Wes pick up the phone.
“Wes, you witnessed the title Nicole Joline gave me. Some cops are here to take my boat away. Come tell them you saw Nicole sign it. They don’t seem to believe me.”
From outside the door, one of the cops said, “We’ll be back.”
“Wait a minute,” I whispered to Wes, then yelled to the cops, “Ask that next of kin if he has a title. He doesn’t. Look at the county records. My name is listed as the owner. Tell the judge that and you won’t be back.”
After I heard the cops leave, I told Wes. “It’s okay. They’re gone for now.” I dialed my sister again, let it ring for a full minute while my heart rate slowed, then hung up. Kaye hadn’t turned her answering machine on, so my call for help never happened.
Which was just as well. I needed to handle my own affairs. I searched all the papers from Kaye’s lawyer. No—my lawyer. No home telephone number listed.
But the state cops might come back with something more official. Had they deliberately waited until all city offices were closed before they arrived?
I unlocked my door and stepped out on my open deck to be sure they were gone. They were out of sight, but a man in a brown suit at least two sizes too large and a souvenir tie knotted way below his chin stood on my finger pier. He had both a receding hairline and a pony tail.
“You all having a bit of trouble, Ma’am?”
I didn’t answer his question but asked one of my own. “So, what do you want?”
He said, “I want to give you a real good opportunity. I’ve got a customer, I mean, a client who wants to buy your boat. He’s willing to pay one hundred thousand dollars for it. And that’s an offer you can’t refuse, right?”
“Oh.” Something was wrong, I knew it. First, was the boat worth that much? Maybe, maybe not. But I had another question. “Who are you? Some kind of boat agent?”
“I’m a legal lawyer. My client wants to stay, ah, remain anonymous. I mean, I am unable to disclose my client’s name. But he has....” He cleared his throat. “My client authorized me to purchase this boat.”
He was no more a lawyer than I was cotton candy. “So, Mr. Legal Lawyer, what is your name?”
“Fred Brown. I’ll just come in and we can take care of the details.”
“I don’t think so. You can stand right there and tell me exactly what those details are.”
“You’d better not fool around here. This offer won’t last. You sign the title over to me, and then you get the check. That will take care of any little problem you have with those coppers.”
“But you don’t have a check with you, do you?”
“Lady, business people don’t carry big checks around. It will be mailed tomorrow morning.” He stepped on board and reached for the door.
“Go away, or I’ll call those police to come right back!” I darted inside, pulled the door shut, and locked it. Then I closed and locked all the hatches and ports. “Go away,” I said from inside.
I heard him jerk at the door handle. I grabbed my cell phone. “I’m calling the police right now,” I yelled.
“Listen, babe, you ain’t gonna call the police. Not now. Not after what they said.”
I stood by the largest port, where he could watch as I punched in numbers, then held the phone to my ear.
“You’ll be sorry,” the guy hollered, but he was on his way.
“Fox Pizza,” I heard.
“Sorry, I dialed the wrong number.”
Now I had two problems. I wouldn’t call Kaye about either.
~ ~
Wednesday morning, July 26
I wanted to put it off. I dawdled over breakfast, turned on the radio, pretended to listen to the news. Something about a Wal-Mart controversy. Something about a fiery wreck. Something about the school board. Advertisements for almost everything. Finally, I could delay no longer.
“Judge Haley,” the cop had said. I called information for his office address. I didn’t need Kaye to do this. I could do it myself. His office was three blocks from the police station, next door to the court house—on the fourth floor of the only four-story building in town. The elevator opened into a lobby with an empty desk facing the elevator. Half the space was a waiting room with chairs and magazines like a doctor’s office. The other half was a library with a computer on another desk, opened up, with its screen-saver flipping a series of mountain scenes.
“Hello,” I said. I stepped out of the elevator and into the room. “Hello,” I repeated.
No one answered. No one appeared. I crossed the lobby to a door with the name, “Judge Haley,” in gold letters across a frosted window. I hesitated. I could do it, I could. I opened the door.
A portly, white-haired man looked up.
“Judge Haley?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“I’m Cyd Denlinger.” He didn’t react. He didn’t remember my name from the paper he’d signed. “Your name was on the paper the police showed me last night. About leaving my boat. It is my boat. Nicole Joline gave it to me, and I have the title. Who told you they owned it?”
The judge smiled, leaned back, and said, “I’m sorry, that’s privileged information, young lady.”