by S. L. Menear
She pointed at the bed. “It was Phil. He got a key and the security code from the maid.” Her face flushed with bright-red blotches. “We weren’t expecting anyone until later tonight.”
“That’s a lot of romance.” Gwen smirked.
“He takes pills.” She smiled sheepishly.
I nudged Gwen. “Make sure they arrest the maid too.”
“I’m really sorry about this, Jett. And poor Phil. He just had his thirty-fourth birthday a few days ago.” Brenda hung her head as her eyes filled with tears. She eased around the bed and glanced at Phil’s well-polished left shoe, still on his foot. She sighed. “He always was a sharp dresser.”
Gwen poked Brenda. “Let’s get downstairs before the police arrive. Is there anyone else in the house?”
She choked back tears. “I hope not. This is going to ruin my life.”
“I’ll say. Now get going.” I gave her a firm shove out the bedroom door.
“Wait a minute.” Gwen grabbed Brenda’s arm. “I didn’t see any cars in the driveway. How did you and Phil get here?”
“We parked in the garage.” She shrugged. “Don’t look so shocked. There’s plenty of room inside. Too bad we had to walk in the rain to get to the house.”
Angry, my blood pressure shot up as the dejected suspect walked in front of Gwen, and we headed downstairs.
We stepped into the foyer just as the police rang the doorbell, booming the instrumental version of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”
I opened the door to Mike Miller, my old boyfriend from summers in between college semesters, still handsome as ever. We’d lost touch when I joined the Navy. Actually, Mike had refused to answer my calls, texts, emails, and letters because he resented me joining up. I had no idea he’d become a detective for the Banyan Isle Police.
My heels raised me almost to his eye level as the wind whipped my hair. “Mike, it’s been a long time.”
Tall, dark, and brooding, he said, “Jett,” in a curt tone and peered over my shoulder. “Gwen, I understand you found a possible murder victim, and you have a suspect?”
She shoved Brenda forward. “Here’s your suspect, and Mayor Peabody is dead under a bed upstairs—looks like cyanide poisoning.” She pointed. “Second floor, north wing, the first guest room on the ocean side.”
“Don’t listen to her, Mike. I’m innocent,” Brenda pleaded. “What will my friends think?”
His eyebrows shot up as he snapped the cuffs on Brenda. “Gwen, did you just say the mayor was murdered?”
“Afraid so. It doesn’t get any higher profile than this on Banyan Isle. I’m guessing you’ll call in the Sheriff’s homicide detectives, their CSU, the works.”
“That and I’ll get somebody from the Medical Examiner’s office over here pronto.” He turned to a patrol officer behind him. “Read this suspect her rights and hold her in your car until officers from the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office get here. Keep the A/C on.” Mike ignored me and said to Gwen, “I’m sorry about this, but I need you and Jett to wait outside the crime scene until the PBSO’s team arrives.” He pulled out his cell and made some calls.
Judging by his cold attitude toward me, Mike still resented my decision to join the Navy. Even though I had shared my plans with him, I guess he didn’t understand I wanted to experience the world and serve my country before thinking about settling down. If only we could’ve talked it over and worked things out, but instead he shut me out. Not a word from him for six years.
Gwen and I walked outside. Lucky for us, the rain had stopped. Sunshine and a warm breeze scented with salt air caressed my skin.
Lost in our own thoughts, we sat on a sun-dried marble bench facing the enormous circular water sculpture that divided my driveway. A fifteen-foot bronze statue of Odin with his sword held high stood in the center of a white marble fountain surrounded by four snarling wolves spewing water from their fanged jaws. Each wolf faced one of the four cardinal directions.
The sound of steady splashes from the flowing fountain soothed me as the sun cast shadows over the sparkling water. I stared into its depths, my mind racing about the murder and the renewed pain of seeing Mike again.
A flaming wolf with gleaming golden eyes flashed into the water and seemed to rise up and hover in front of me.
I gasped and jumped up, my heart pounding.
The wolf vanished.
“You okay, Jett?” Gwen stared at me, worry clouding her face.
I’d never seen anything like that before, and I didn’t feel like trying to explain it, so I came up with a more reasonable answer. “A reflection of one of the wolves startled me. Must’ve been the sun playing tricks with the light.”
Or had it been a cryptic message from the spirit world?
Three
I slept late the next morning, snuggled under soft Egyptian cotton sheets in one of Gwen’s guest beds. A gentle breeze drifted through the balcony’s open French doors. The fresh sea air had deepened my sleep and pulled me into a vivid dream.
I stood on the tarmac at the Grand Bahama International Airport in Freeport, Bahamas, and watched my parents board their private Gulfstream G650 jet, taxi out, and take off. Their airplane climbed out over the water, and seconds later, a bright flash and a faint boom preceded the tail separating from the fuselage. The jet nosedived into the ocean, sending up a fountain of seawater.
“Noooo!” I shrieked and sprang up in bed. My heart hammered my chest as I gasped for breath, trying to recover from the shock and trauma of watching my parents die. It had all seemed so real, but I hadn’t been in the Bahamas the day they crashed. I was halfway around the world in Afghanistan when it happened.
Gwen peeked into the room. “Are you okay? I heard you scream.”
“Sorry, I had a really bad dream.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
“Was it about the murdered mayor in your house?” She sat beside me and put her arm around my shoulder.
“No, I saw my parents’ jet explode and crash into the ocean.” I brushed away tears running down my cheeks.
“News reports never mentioned an explosion.” Gwen grabbed a box of tissues from the nightstand and handed them to me. “Your subconscious is probably conjuring up catastrophes. Try not to think about it. The corpse in your house must’ve triggered the nightmare. Why don’t you take a relaxing hot shower?”
I bit my lower lip, embarrassed Gwen had found me like this, and checked my watch. “Sorry I slept so late. It’s almost time for lunch.”
“No worries. Hugo and Leo are attending an art fair at Bayside Marketplace in Miami. Let me treat you to a late brunch at the new Banyan Isle Bistro. Their ham and Gruyère quiches are delicious.”
I blew my nose and tried to shake off the traumatic image. “Sounds yummy. I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” I stumbled out of bed and headed for the shower, eager to escape the lingering negative energy.
Forty minutes later, we sat at a table on an open deck overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, which flowed past the island’s west side. A wide sun umbrella shielded us from late-morning rays as salty air mixed with the savory scents of gourmet food in the light breeze. A water taxi filled with smiling tourists docked nearby, and gulls shrieked and dived into the water where a fisherman had tossed unwanted fish parts from a cleaning table.
I banished the nightmare’s images from my mind, took in the scenic view, and felt better. “It all looks so normal. Hard to believe yesterday actually happened.”
“The town’s rumor mill is burning up Twitter.” Gwen shook her head. “Half the people think the mayor’s wealthy, much-older wife poisoned him, and the other half thinks Brenda’s hot-tempered husband did it.”
“I didn’t know Mayor Peabody. He must’ve moved here after I shipped out. What can you tell me about him?” I took a sip of iced tea.
“Phil was only thirty-four and quite handsome—the town playboy. Three years ago, he married heiress Marjorie Wentworth—super-rich, razor-thin, and drippin
g with diamonds.”
“But didn’t you say she was a lot older?”
Gwen took a sip of her lemonade and lowered her voice. “Marjorie is sixty-five, but she’s had a lot of work done and could pass for late forties. Everyone assumed the mayor married her for her money, but he behaved himself early on. Rumor has it the past two years he started drinking too much and having affairs with slightly older married women.”
My jaw dropped. “Older than his wife?”
She laughed. “No, I meant older than Phil, like Brenda—early forties.”
I stirred my tea. “Think he was messing around with more than one woman? The suspect pool could be bigger.”
“I heard he had two or three on the hook.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”
“An equal opportunity guy—I guess married women can’t be picky.” I admired the sparkling waterway. “Is Chef Hugo still in love with your house manager?”
“They’re seriously considering marriage. I want them to be happy, but Hugo and Leo are like family, and I’m afraid if they get married, they might move out. I can’t bear to lose them.”
I thought about them and chuckled. “They seem so mismatched—short and stocky Hugo with tall and elegant Leo.”
“You left out their vast differences in style. Leo always looks like he stepped out of a page in GQ, and Hugo has zero fashion sense. Exact opposites.”
“Yes, but they love each other. I don’t think marriage would make them move out of a lovely oceanfront mansion where their rent is free in exchange for Hugo’s cooking.”
“And I pay Leo to run the household and handle all the paperwork,” Gwen said.
I sipped my drink. “Do they still own the Gourmet Art Gallery on Main Street?”
“It’s doing well. Leo keeps it stocked with beautiful paintings and sculptures, and Hugo prepares gourmet hors d’oeuvres for their popular Art Appreciation Hour.”
“I’ve never heard of that. What’s Art Appreciation Hour?”
“It’s like a bar’s happy hour, but with a free glass of wine and gourmet food. They told me it’s been a big boost for their art business.”
“Sounds fun. What about you, Gwen? Dating anyone special?”
She slid her glass in tiny circles on the table. “No, but I’ve got my eye on a hot homicide detective in the Palm Beach Police. What about you?”
“I dated a Navy officer who broke my heart when he married his childhood sweetheart while he was home on leave.”
“The creep! I bet he never told you he had a girl back home.”
“He said we were exclusive. I was shocked when he returned wearing a wedding band. I felt like such a fool, and everybody on the base knew we’d been dating.”
Gwen touched my arm. “Just so you know, Mike Miller is still single.”
“Yeah, but he crushed my heart when he ghosted me after I joined the Navy. It still hurts whenever I think about him cutting me out of his life. Besides, I’m not ready to date anyone.”
“Hey, you know what they say about getting back on the horse.” Gwen spotted someone behind me and sat a little straighter.
A whiff of aftershave reached my nose a second before a blond man in his mid-thirties, wearing an expensive suit, stopped at our table.
“I thought I recognized you, Gwen. It’s been a few months.” He smiled. “Your hair is longer. I’m at the end table and wanted to say hello.”
She smiled at me. “Jett Jorgensen, meet Pierce Lockwood of the Lockwood Law Firm. We met last year at a charity auction.”
“Seems like we cross paths every few months on this little island,” he said.
I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Pierce.” His deep-blue eyes sparkled as I gazed at his tanned face, his short sandy hair tousled by the breeze.
“We haven’t ordered yet.” Gwen pointed at an empty chair. “Would you like to join us? We’d hate for you to eat alone.”
“Thanks, I’d love to if it’s okay with Jett.” His pearly whites showcased a warm smile in his chiseled masculine features.
“Of course, Pierce, have a seat. Gwen tells me the food here is superb.”
He sat at our table just as the waitress arrived to take the orders. Gwen and I ordered the quiche, and he chose a brisket burger.
I admired his fit physique. “What type of law do you practice?”
He took a sip of ice water. “I handle corporate accounts, estates, and trust funds.” He frowned. “Aw, forgive me, Jett. Your parents were Victor and Atsila Jorgensen, weren’t they? I’m sorry for your loss.”
“That’s okay, Pierce. You don’t know me, and I’ve been away in the Navy.” I gave him a friendly smile.
He recovered quickly. “My dad handled the probate of your parents’ will. They were good friends.”
“I thought your last name sounded familiar. Your parents are Niles and Nancy, right?”
“They live about halfway down Ocean Drive from you.” He glanced at Gwen and back to me. “I heard you had quite a shock yesterday.”
I laughed. “That’s an understatement. Gwen was with me.”
“The Banyan Isle Bugle reported Mayor Peabody paid off the maid to give him a key and your security code. Is that what happened?” he asked.
Gwen nodded. “That maid is in big trouble. Depending on who killed the mayor, she could be charged with accessory to murder.”
“Are you staying at your parents’ house, Jett?”
“I’m spending a day or two with Gwen until the police release the crime scene. She lives next door.”
He smiled at Gwen. “You remained there after that carjacker killed your parents. When was that—ten years ago?”
“I was with them when it happened.” Gwen touched her chest. “I spent two weeks in the hospital healing from a gunshot wound. My parents died in the street.”
I patted her hand. “She wasn’t quite eighteen.”
“Sorry to bring up such a traumatic memory. I was away in law school when it happened. Did the police catch the killer?”
She shook her head. “He got away. Every now and then, a carjacking with the same MO comes across the police wire, usually down in Miami-Dade or Broward County.”
“That’s hard to take, but at least our cops caught the mayor’s killer.” He scanned the other tables. “I heard it was Brenda Carrigan.”
I jumped in. “Gwen and I found her hiding under the bed, but she didn’t seem to have a motive. The police might have other suspects.”
“In any case, it’s quite the scandal. They even mentioned it on the national news last night.” He leaned back when his burger plate arrived.
“I still can’t believe it happened in my house. I’d like to help the police catch the killer.” The waitress served my meal, and the aroma of baked-on Gruyère cheese filled my nostrils.
“Why do you feel so strongly about this? You didn’t know the victim, did you?” He squirted ketchup on his burger bun.
“No, but I hate that my ancestral home has been marred by murder. Did you know him?”
“We crossed paths occasionally because I’m a county commissioner. I heard he was playing around with local married women. Think one of them did it?”
Gwen lowered her voice. “It’s not appropriate for me to speculate, but the local police are checking the security tapes to see who else may have met him there.”
I patted my lips with a napkin. “Someone from the security company should’ve noticed the guest-room activity and checked with me or my uncle. I left our emergency contact numbers with them.”
Gwen pulled out her phone. “I’ll give Mike a quick call, cop to cop, and see what they found.” She covered her food with a linen napkin to keep it warm and stepped away.
“I grew up here, but I don’t remember you, Pierce. Have you been in Banyan Isle long?” I gazed at a passing yacht.
“All my life. I’m guessing you’re about five or six years younger, so we weren’t in school together or in the same circle of friends.”
/>
I swallowed a bite. “That makes sense. Are we still neighbors?”
“No, I moved into a hangar apartment out in Aerodrome Estates. I keep an airplane there.”
“My uncle, Hunter Vann, lives in Aerodrome Estates. I think it’s a fun pilot community.”
“And it’s near the international raceway. Your uncle and I had a blast taking our sportscars around the two-mile, ten-turn road course on a non-race day.”
“I’ve done that with him too. He let me drive his McLaren 720S. That was the most fun I’ve ever had in a car. Uncle Hunter also taught me how to fly. I love his antique cabin biplane.”
“Right, his red Staggerwing Beech is a beauty. My airplane is more about speed,” Pierce said. “After the USSR disbanded, I got a great deal on an older generation L-39 Czech fighter/trainer jet. You should fly it with me sometime.”
“Every pilot has dreams of flying a fighter. I’ll definitely hold you to your offer once I’m settled. I’m glad we finally met, Pierce.”
“Me too.” He smiled warmly. “What brings you home?”
“I’m near the end of a six-year tour in the Navy, and I have to use up my accumulated leave before I decide whether to re-enlist.”
Gwen rejoined us looking concerned. “Mike told me the security videos for your home showed an empty house and grounds yesterday while we were there. Turns out someone rigged the system with a recorded loop every afternoon between two and five. This could’ve been going on for almost two years while the house stood empty. The Sheriff’s team is looking into whether someone at the Elite Security Company was paid off.”
“Wow, I can’t even trust the firm I pay to protect my home.” I took a moment to control my anger. “Does this mean they have no way of knowing who else the mayor was playing around with in my guest room?”
“They don’t have video evidence, but they found some personal items in that guest room that didn’t belong to Brenda or Mayor Peabody.” Gwen uncovered her meal.
“Whose were they?” Pierce asked after swallowing a bite of his burger.
“They’re verifying the suspects now.” She shrugged. “A small community like this—we’ll probably hear all about it on the evening news.” She stabbed a fork into her lunch.