“You can wipe those looks off your faces. I’m here and will be the entire day. What trouble can I get into selling clothes?”
They had to know how I struggled with being left behind when there was some exciting sleuthing to do. I had my own plan to set in motion once we got back from the coast, but they didn’t need to know about it. Besides, I told myself, talking to a bunch of gambling grannies about what they knew of poker games privately held was hardly the stuff of danger. Was it? I shook my head no in answer to my own question and took another sneaky peek in the rearview mirror. Madeleine was out of her seat and looking through our merchandise, but Grandy was still giving me that I-don’t-trust-you look. Or maybe it was her I-want-to-be-in-on whatever-you’re–doing look. I mean, I got my nosiness from someone, didn’t I?
“What?” I said.
I slipped the motor home in between our two neighbors at the flea market, and we set up shop for the day. Trade was brisk because it was the perfect day for shopping outside. A cool on-shore breeze blew in from the ocean, lifting the heat and humidity and making it a perfect seventy-two degrees—just the right temperature for trying on cocktail dresses, slacks, and shirts without breaking a sweat.
“Maybe we don’t really need a permanent location,” I said to Madeleine. “This is working out really well.”
As if to deny the truth of my words, the breeze quickened, blowing in some dark and ominous looking clouds from off shore. By noon, the skies threatened rain. Lightning flashed between the clouds, and the wind whipped the palm trees around, fronds flying to the ground. The flea market patrons headed to their cars, abandoning their Sunday shopping and heading for the safety and sheltered interiors of the local mall. So much for our sales today.
We buttoned up the rig and headed back to Sabal Bay.
“Half a day of sales won’t keep us in business,” Madeleine said as she added up our receipts while I drove the canopy road home. In good weather the oaks and palms hung over the road, making a tunnel of shadows broken by shafts of sunlight. I usually loved this stretch of highway more than any other in Southern Florida, but today I gripped the wheel with white-knuckled hands to keep the big rig on the narrow road. There was no shoulder, and if the wind blew us off, we’d collide with a tree or plunge into the watery ditch on the side. I made it to the Beeline Highway and turned right toward Sabal Bay, breathing a sigh of relief that if pushed off this stretch of road, I at least had a broad shoulder before the motor home headed off into the weeds.
With my attention less focused on the road, I had time to consider Madeleine’s remark about our low sales.
“There’s the annual ranchers’ rodeo coming up next weekend. We ought to consider some kind of a special sale for that,” I said.
“Here’s an idea,” said Grandy. “You get as many items of Western wear as you can and have a round-up sale of rodeo duds.”
“Hey, great idea. Our clients from West Palm will be sure to come to the rodeo. We can offer them outfits to fit right in.” I signaled left and turned into our local flea market parking slot.
“It means we’ll have to make a trip to the coast again to see if we can collect some Western shirts, jeans, and boots,” Madeleine said. “I can do that tomorrow, Eve, if you’ve got something else you want to do.”
I whipped my head around to look at her. Was she reading my mind? And condoning whatever plan I was hatching to snoop into the grannies’ gambling information? But she returned my look of suspicion with one of innocence.
“It will take my mind off David. You can come along too, if you want, Eve.”
“Do you need me to drive?” I asked.
“I’ll take my car. No sense in using all the gas the motor home requires. We haven’t developed a schedule for the week, yet. Maybe we should sell here on Mondays and take a few other weekdays to visit West Palm, then do Friday and the weekend in Stuart.”
“The only reason we didn’t do well today was because of the weather, but I think the flea market in Stuart will prove to be a great place to sell.” I turned off the engine.
Grandy left her seat and came forward. “I wouldn’t mind helping out here tomorrow. I can sell. You have something you need to do, Eve?”
“Uh ….”
I was saved from answering the question by my cell ringing. I looked at the caller ID. “It’s Nappi.”
“I’m back and I have very little to report. Except for a visit to the Reeds by the county sheriff.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m just turning into your drive.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes.”
Nappi made himself comfortable on my couch, and as he relaxed and sipped a Scotch, recounted his day at the Reeds’ ranch. “Reed and his foreman took me around the ranch and showed me some of their hunting area. I shot a few quail, but indicated I found the birds boring game. ‘How about something more challenging?’ I asked. He offered wild boar. I yawned and said I could get that at any game ranch, ‘even next door at the Wilson place.’ That got him going, and he indicated he was getting some exotics in a few days, hinted at Cape Buffalo.”
“Did you bite?” I asked. Alex and Jerry had joined Madeleine, Grandy, and me to listen to Nappi’s story.
“You’re not going to have much chance to snoop around,” Alex said.
“This may take more than a few visits, but I think the man did some checking on me and knows my line of work. If he’s doing something illegal at his ranch, I’m just the kind of client he’d be interested in sharing it with. I’m going back there when he calls. I promised to bring some friends.” Nappi finished his Scotch, and I jumped up and poured him another.
“You said something about the sheriff paying a visit.” I handed him the glass.
“Sheriff Leopold, I believe his name was. He showed up with a few of his deputies, and your friend Frida and her partner Linc Tooney accompanied them. Leopold was inquiring after some Guatemalan workers who had disappeared recently. They were working at one of the dairies around here, but told their families they were leaving to work on one of the hunting ranches. They’d not been heard from since then. I guess Leopold thought questioning Reed was a waste of time, but Frida didn’t. Leopold and Reed both told her that the Guatemalans often left jobs and then dropped out of sight, but Frida seemed to think these guys were different because they had families here. Reed indicated that he hadn’t hired any Indians lately, and his foreman backed him on that. Frida seemed skeptical of his story. Why was that, do you think?” Nappi crunched on a bit of ice.
“Frida says the Guatemalans who have worked there weren’t happy with the work conditions. Not that they complained, according to her, but the grapevine reported that Reed was a horrible boss.” I got up and checked the salmon fillet baking in the oven.
“Did the sheriff do any kind of search?” asked Alex.
“Nope. In fact, he and Reed went off a ways and seemed to be having a good laugh about everything.” Nappi’s smile was twisted. “Then Leopold came back and told Frida she should let it go. He called her ‘little lady.’ ”
Grandy lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “That didn’t go over well with Frida, did it?”
Nappi laughed. “No, it did not.”
“Did Frida indicate she knew you?”
“She did not. When Leopold called her a ‘little lady,’ I gave her a wink. She knew what side I was on, so even if she’s not one of my fans, she wasn’t about to blow my cover.”
“I assume we’ll hear from her this evening at some point. She’ll want to know what you were doing at the ranch.” Frida is a good detective, and she was right to pursue the rumor about those missing Guatemalans being employed by Reed.
Hearing a car pull up in front of my house, I smiled. Sure enough, it was Frida. I went to the front door. “You’re just in time. I’m making a baked salmon fillet. Join us.”
She looked unhappy and bone weary. “I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.”
“You o
ff duty?” I asked.
“For the night, but I’ve got to go back in early tomorrow.”
I grabbed a glass, plopped in a few ice cubes and a splash of Scotch. I looked at her with a question. “Unless you want iced tea or a coke?”
“Are you kidding? After the day I’ve had? Keep pouring.” She reached out and took the glass.
I gestured to the couch, and she slid into the seat beside Mr. Napolitani and nodded a greeting.
“You said you had some news?” asked Nappi.
“I just came from Sammy Egret’s half-brother’s place. This won’t be something you’ll want to hear either, Madeleine.” She took another long draft of the Scotch and sighed.
“Bernard Egret’s body was found on David Wilson’s ranch. He’d been shot in the back.”
Chapter 15
At Frida’s news, Madeleine swayed and her knees buckled. “I think I need to sit down.”
Grandy and I ran to her and gathered her into our arms. Alex got out of my big easy chair and helped her into it.
“Water,” said Grandy.
“Scotch,” said Alex and Nappi.
I ran to my liquor cabinet and poured her a snifter of brandy.
“Thanks, Eve,” she said and slugged the contents of the glass down.
The color returned to her face.
“When did he die?” I asked.
“We know David has nothing to do directly with his death. He was in jail when Bernard was shot. The medical examiner said he had an alcohol level of .10, indicating he was pretty drunk, but his blood also held traces of other drugs. We’re finding out what they were now. He’d been severely beaten, and he had scratches all over his body. He was dehydrated and hadn’t eaten in a while. The bullet came from a high-powered rifle. We confiscated all the rifles at David’s ranch and those at Reed’s place too.”
“Thank God David was in jail when Bernard was killed.” I knew it was a horrible thing to say, but Madeleine glanced over at me with a look of gratitude.
Frida finished her Scotch and sat forward on the couch. “Yeah, but you’re not going to like what else I have to say.”
I sat on the arm of the easy chair and took Madeleine’s hand in mine. “Say it.”
“One of the rifles at David’s ranch had been recently fired. It belonged to Dudley Thomas, his foreman. He claimed there had been no hunting going on at the ranch since David was arrested, but Dudley has a long history of getting into fights in the bars around here. His favorite targets seem to be Indians. I guess he doesn’t like them much. We took him into custody and he’s being questioned now.”
I was surprised Frida wasn’t the one doing the questioning.
“Isn’t this your case?” I asked.
“It is, but the captain told me to take some time off and let Linc handle the interrogation.”
There was something else Frida wasn’t telling us, but Alex broke in before I had a chance to ask.
He slapped his hand against the top of the coffee table. “Don’t you see what’s going on, Frida? This is all too convenient. David’s rifle kills his client, but David had stopped hunting because of his hatred of guns. David’s card is found in Bernard’s car, but he never met Bernard. Now it appears Dudley’s rifle might be the weapon used to kill Bernard Egret and on David’s ranch. Someone wants David Wilson responsible for all of this and is willing to frame even his foreman for Bernard’s murder. Who benefits if his ranch goes under because no one is running it? Blake Reed, that’s who.” He ran his hands through his thick hair in a gesture of frustration. “I know you can’t arrest Reed. You’ve got no evidence. I also know he’s just too smart to get his own hands dirty. Maybe he’s using someone else.”
“I think you should let me in on what you intend to do, because you’ve got the look of a man who’s about to take action,” Frida said.
She shouldn’t have worried that Alex would do anything outside the law. The man was careful about that—more careful than I was. He had to be. He could lose his PI license.
“I have to begin somewhere. I’m going back to talk with Mrs. Warren, the mother of the boy David shot breaking into his house several years ago.”
“And I’m going with him,” I said. “I’ve got a few questions to ask her. Like is your husband really dead? Who was the guy you were with at the casino? And why did you lie to us about being alone?”
Frida shook her head. “Mr. Warren is dead. I already checked on that. He was working for a utilities contractor in Afghanistan. The Taliban wiped out the unit when they went in to replace an electrical power station north of Kabul. It’s a dead end, Alex. She told me you already talked with her. What can another visit do?”
“He’s dead, but she’s not,” I said.
“You think a woman did this?” Frida asked.
“Why not? Her only son was killed. You think she likes the man who’s responsible? And maybe she had help.” I remembered the tall thin man she held onto the night Sammy disappeared from the casino. “Maybe she had a lot of help. Maybe Reed helped her by paying her. The woman looks like she could use the money.”
“You really don’t like that man, do you, Eve?” asked Frida.
“You don’t either,” I said.
Her cell rang. She held up her finger to signal she had to take it. “It’s my boss.” Frida got off the couch and went into the kitchen. I couldn’t hear much of her conversation except for several yeses and nos and then an exclamation of “That’s not fair, sir.” When she rejoined us in the living room, her face was drawn and white. She held her glass out to me.
“Pour me another of these.”
“You’ll have a doozy of a hangover tomorrow when you go in,” I said.
“I won’t be going in tomorrow. I might as well tell you. It’s now official. I’ve been taken off the case. There have been complaints about the way I’ve been handling the murder investigation on David’s ranch and Bernard’s disappearance and murder.”
“Who complained?” I asked. “I’ll bet it was Reed. What right does he have to interfere in police business?”
“No, actually it was Sheriff Leopold. He told the captain I led him on a wild goose chase at Reed’s ranch earlier today. He questions my professionalism. I think the captain would like to leave me in place, but we need the cooperation of all the law enforcement agencies on this murder. Since it’s clear Leopold doesn’t want to work with me, he thought it was better to remove me for now.”
“You knew this was brewing when you stopped by, didn’t you?” I reached out and gave her arm a pat.
“I suspected it was coming. I know what my captain is doing, and I can’t blame him. Leopold doesn’t think women belong in law enforcement. I’ve had difficulty working cases with him before.” Frida gave a heavy sigh and straightened her shoulders. “My feelings are not important. What’s important is solving these murders.”
Frida was such a dedicated cop. I hoped her boss knew that about her. Now I had two reasons for wanting these murders to be solved. One was clearing David’s name—for Madeleine’s sake but also because David was innocent—and the other was to put Frida back into her rightful place as the best detective on the force. Sitting this case out would be hard on her. She, like me, was an action kind of gal. Of course she had a legitimate reason to be. She carried a badge, while all I carried was a half-off Prada bag. There was more. I worried about Sammy. Where was he? And did anyone from the police care? Frida did. She was the only one on the force I could trust. How things had changed since that day only a week ago when David, Madeleine, Alex, and I were relaxing on board David’s boat. Then Blake Reed came into our lives and spoiled everything.
“I know you want to help, but I don’t think having a cop along when I talk to Mrs. Warren again will make any difference.” It was the next morning, and Alex was speaking on his cell to Frida as he and I headed back out to the Deer Mound area to revisit the Warren house. I had told him about the pipe in the truck parked next to the Warren house and also about
the man I’d seen with Mrs. Warren—her date or friend or boyfriend or accomplice—the night Sammy disappeared at the casino. I surprised even myself with how forthcoming I was being about my suspicions. Usually I kept everything to myself and ran off to follow clues alone like a hound on the hunt. I did keep to myself my intention to follow up with the grannies about the off-site poker games. Somehow Bernard got from gambling to David’s ranch and dead, but how and why?
I thought about Sammy often and asked Frida what she had found out from Oscar about his disappearance. She told me Oscar had been released and the Bernard Egret case had been sidelined until he was found murdered. As for Sammy, she said the department saw him as just another Indian off drinking and doing whatever it was Indians do. Sammy was right when he told me no one cared about an Indian disappearing. The authorities had been wrong about Bernard. He was dead. The police seemed to be taking the same nonchalant attitude toward Sammy. Would it take Sammy’s death to make them take action?
Although it had been only two days since the night Sammy disappeared, I knew something terrible had happened to him. Sammy wasn’t an irresponsible Indian, drunk out of his mind and holing up somewhere until he got sober. I knew better.
We’d lost our most important advocate in Frida. She knew Sammy. And she knew he’d never leave his grandfather with no one to run the business. I had told Nappi about Sammy on Saturday night, and he did the most generous thing: he sent Jerry out to the airboat business to help out Grandfather Egret. Jerry had pitched in before, so he knew how to operate the boat. It was only a temporary measure. It meant Jerry had to guard the motor home at night and work for Grandfather Egret during the day. I managed to hide my smug expression when I heard this. Working both places should keep Jerry out of trouble. It also reminded me that I had to talk with the grannies to see what they knew about other Texas hold ’em games going on in the area.
A Sporting Murder Page 12